


Killer DJs From Mars

by thebeehive



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Future, Big Bang Challenge, DJs, Friends to Lovers, Future Fic, Hostage Situations, Kidnapping, M/M, Met Gala, OT5 Friendship (One Direction), Rescue Missions, Secret Mission, but first they have to become friends again, fashion - Freeform, one direction is called all direction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:54:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24070960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebeehive/pseuds/thebeehive
Summary: Five years ago, boy band All Direction broke up for good.Louis Tomlinson, past All Direction member and current co-chair of the Ethical CEO Committee, calls upon former band mates and current DJs Liam Payne and Zayn Malik for help with a top-secret investigation..Set against a dizzying soundtrack of the hottest tunes of 2819, when French is the international language of diplomacy, Liam and Zayn will travel from One World to the Moon and back again:  from a rescue mission in Guam to dancing in Ibiza, from a bar built underneath an indoor waterfall to the silent catacombs of Paris, from the smoggy streets of London to the highest levels of United Nations bureaucracy.Will uncovering a conspiracy with global implications reignite their friendship or change their relationship forever? Stay tuned.
Relationships: Zayn Malik/Liam Payne
Comments: 7
Kudos: 34
Collections: One Direction Big Bang Round 3





	Killer DJs From Mars

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first Big Bang, and I can't thank the Mods enough. They were very organized, super helpful and responsive, and very patient when I fell behind schedule at the end. 
> 
> Thank you SO MUCH to [fallinglikethis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallingLikeThis/pseuds/FallingLikeThis) who did the AMAZING art for this work. I could not have been more lucky to be paired up with someone so talented, thoughtful, and who was encouraging and helped me out, especially at crunch time towards the end. All the love and appreciation!
> 
> A couple things about this fic:  
> Please let me know if any of the French is used incorrectly!  
> I wrote most of this fic last year, and two parts - the part where everyone has to wear a mask out in London, and the part where the world is referred to as "one world" were written before everything happened. I thought about changing these parts, but decided to leave them as is.  
> I wanted chapters, but I also wanted a one shot. And I wanted a table of contents. So that's why this is set up like it is - like scrolling a little book.  
> Lastly - thank you to everyone who has been supportive of my writing it means the world to me. Hope you enjoy this one.

Hold you close standing on the edge of no tomorrow  
Still deep in us, get that rush  
So I still follow  
-Flight of the Stars, Zayn Malik

TABLE OF CONTENTS:

CHAPTER 1: THE JOB OF A DJ  
As usual Zayn is running late to a secret UN summit meeting 

CHAPTER 2: THE INCIDENT IN GUAM  
Zayn is part of the rescue mission 

CHAPTER 3: ZAYN’S FIRST DJ SET  
Zayn’s nerves get the better of him on his very first solo DJ set in Ibiza 

CHAPTER 4: LOUIS HAS A MISSION  
Louis calls upon his former bandmates for a secret mission that could affect all of One World 

CHAPTER 5: FALLING WATERS  
Zayn and Liam have a drink at the famous Falling Waters Bar and Restaurant

CHAPTER 6: DR. BERNARD WILL SEE YOU NOW  
Dr. Bernard has a talk with Liam and Zayn

CHAPTER 7: ZAYN REMEMBERS  
Zayn remembers the first time he met Liam

CHAPTER 8: THE MET GALA IS ON THE MOON  
The theme of the Moon Met Gala is: Fashion through Space and Time

CHAPTER 9: BREAKING AND ENTERING  
Liam and Zayn put their diplomatic immunity to good use

CHAPTER 10: THE CATACOMBS ARE COZY  
Deep underground in the Paris catacombs, the former members of All Direction listen to a record

CHAPTER 1: THE JOB OF A DJ

Pg. 498 of the United Nations Handbook -

Off the Record Division:

DJ (Diplomate de Justice,™ 2590) 

The job of a DJ is a delicate balancing act. 

Granted diplomatic immunity, the DJ travels freely across One World, attending United Nations’ meetings by day and spinning the latest tunes at the hottest parties by night. They are to engage in field work, assigned based upon their skills and strengths after extensive and rigorous testing. Field work ranges from undercover operations infiltrating criminal organizations to seducing One World leaders in order to obtain sensitive information Using their natural charm, their intelligence, and their five senses, the DJ is in a unique position to leave an indelible mark on history. 

***Bonjour! It’s DJ Martin Garrix - and today is Collaboration Tuesday, which can only mean one thing. It’s time to play my latest track, featuring a great friend of mine, Troye Sivan. Enjoy my latest song - 'There for You'***

As per usual, Zayn was late. 

He clutched an iced coffee and hurriedly straightened his skinny black tie as he awkwardly shuffled behind the long, curving tables towards the small space where his own name, Zayn Malik, was embossed in black on a shiny gold placard, surrounded by his fellow DJs and United Nations members. Everyone was settled in, waiting for the meeting - an emergency summit that had been announced the previous night - to start.

It wasn’t his fault he was always the last to arrive - he had flown in earlier that morning on the only direct SolarFlight from London to Geneva, but more pressingly - he had a very strict grooming regimen - also not entirely his fault - his hair was very thick. That meant a lot of deep conditioning, and then maintaining his artful scruff instead of letting it evolve into a full length beard, which didn’t take long since his hair grew fast; not to mention the laborious upkeep of his eyebrows. And applying mascara and dark eyeliner to his eyes was not an easy feat when his lashes were so long he had no choice but to make sure they were perfectly curled - they were so thick the mascara tended to weigh them down.

Back in his hotel room, listening to his friend Martin Garrix play a special set on Channel 1 - One World radio, Zayn curled his lashes and tried not to bop his head along to the dance tunes - he didn’t want to lose an eye. Sometimes he wondered why getting ready for an event or meeting or party was oftentimes better than actually - blasting music and singing along, trying on clothes and doing a careful 360 in a full length mirror - there was something about the routine of it, the ritual of it all, that instantly relaxed him. The actual events and meetings and parties he tended were stressful - getting ready was the oasis. 

Zayn was relaxed - until he received a warning beep on his PDS (Personal DigiScreen); he had only fifteen minutes to make the meeting. He couldn't walk through the front doors of the United Nations building like a normal member - being a DJ, it was imperative no one outside the UN knew his secret identity - so he took a roundabout, underground passage to sneak into the building. 

And now he was late.

He sat down quickly; his iced coffee sloshed and his elbow slammed down on the table - he pretended he didn’t see the looks his fellow seat mates threw his way - after more than two years, they shouldn’t be surprised by his lack of punctuality. He sat down and rubbed his elbow; before he could help it, his eyes darted across the room - the large, airy space was painted with colorful murals depicting various cultures and peoples from around One World. The room was circular, with members on various tiers, twenty tiers in total, while the head of the United Nations board were on the ground level. Zayn looked up a tier, across from where he sat - there was an empty seat, where usually a familiar face sat. Hmm. Interesting. Maybe he couldn’t make the meeting in time, Zayn wondered. 

Before he could take a sip of his coffee, Ivan called the meeting to order.

“Faites attention, s’il vous plait.” 

Zayn took one last slurp and tried not to slouch too much.

“I call this meeting to order. To order, everyone please, this meeting is now in session.” 

Ivan’s sonorous voice boomed and echoed around the room, up to the top of the domed roof made entirely of sheer solar panels. The sun was shining brightly, and the room was beautiful, Zayn thought, as the sunlight highlighted the swirls of colors in the murals, creating a 3-d effect of light and shadow. 

“For the record please note - this is the United Nations’s International Summit meeting number 4,020 - in the year of 2816. Thank you to everyone who made it on such short notice.”

Ivan paused, and Zayn squinted to look down at the figure on the ground floor - he looked at the SDS (Small DigiScreen) built into the table in front of him so he could see a close up of Ivan’s face in all its glory - the man was lucky he had miniscule pores. 

“Typically, standard protocol for an emergency meeting is to allow members to remote DigiScreen in from their PDS, but due to the sensitive nature of this meeting, we wanted everyone here in person. Members not present will NOT be notified unless they come to HQ personally, so please, everyone, treat the information shared today with the utmost discretion.” 

Zayn again looked across to the empty seat a tier above him; he scowled at himself for wondering why the chair wasn't occupied.

Ivan continued. “I will give the floor to our esteemed president, Madame Prisha Khatri.” 

Madame Khatri also had nearly invisible pores, Zayn thought idly as he looked at the SDS in front of him - he wondered if leaders of the United Nations were chosen not only for their international savvy and diplomatic acumen but their excellent skin care routine and naturally tiny pores. 

“Members - thank you for traveling from across the globe to make this meeting today. This is only the second emergency summit I have called since elected president - the last one was two years ago during my third week in office.”

There was a moment of silence for the Great California Tsunami of 2814. That had been Zayn’s first year as a member, too. It had been a tough year.

“My term is coming to an end next month, and I am so pleased that Monsieur Gael Logos will be replacing me -” Madame Khatri gestured to a man that sat up in the second tier. “But in my last weeks as president, I want to leave on a good note, a good legacy, knowing that I did everything I could in the short time I had -” 

Zayn tried not to tune out the president, who he really liked, but he was tired, he had played a set last night in London, and the only thing he could really focus on was how cold and nice the iced coffee felt as it hit his tongue and he swallowed greedy gulps, until -

“- Monsieur Liam Payne. We will NOT notify One World press, for obvious reasons. Please keep in mind nobody outside this room knows, not even Liam’s own family.”

Zayn choked on his coffee, and sputtered for a good fifteen seconds before he could catch his breath - he looked up from the SDS to see all eyes in the room on him. 

Fuck. 

Did she just say -

“Please everyone direct your attention to the following video we received yesterday afternoon.”

Zayn clutched his reusable coffee mug so tightly his knuckles turned red, and looked down at the screen, his stomach in knots. 

The screen was black but muffled noises could be heard. And then a bright light turned on, illuminating a chilling scene - a single light shone down, highlighting a man sat on a chair in what looked like a dim basement room, or a room underground, with exposed, dripping concrete walls as the background to the solitary figure.

The man’s legs were tied to the chair, and his arms were pulled behind his back and probably tied together. He was gagged, but the rest of his face was uncovered, and his brown eyes, normally warm and soft, looked frantic and huge in his face - which was gaunt and covered in grime - just like his worn shirt and rugged cargo trousers. 

Zayn noticed he was barefoot, and somehow that detail, more than anything, brought home how exposed and vulnerable Liam was. 

He let go of his coffee cup and his hands gripped his thighs. He tried to take a deep breath but his lungs felt constricted and his chest was so tight he could only breathe in shallow pants.

A voice spoke, while Liam’s eyes continued to look imploringly into the camera. 

Zayn wanted to cry. 

The voice was digitally distorted.

“Why is a simple DJ going undercover to befriend our organization? This reeks of the United Nations and their foolishness. If you left us alone to run our business, nobody would get hurt. But you interfered, and now this man must pay the price. If we do not receive the amount of One Decillion in One World currency, wired to the following untraceable account - 

Zayn listened numbly as the voice rattled off a long series of numbers - 

“We will kill Payne, and send you the video of the live execution, as a lesson to the United Nations to stay out of the business of the cartel. You have 48 hours to wire this amount from the time you have received this recording.”

The voice stopped - on screen a hooded figure, wearing all black with his face obscured, appeared. They stood next to Liam and ripped the cloth gag out of his mouth - Zayn winced - and another distorted voice spoke.

“Any last words, DJ?” 

Liam lifted his jaw and looked right into the camera. “Yeah - your breath reeks - got any gum?”

The figure reached back and Zayn wanted to close his eyes but he couldn’t look away - the figure struck Liam across the face, hard, and when he pulled his hand back Liam’s lip bled, but he had a wild, triumphant look in his eyes. 

The screen went black.

Zayn tried to take a deep breath. His palms were sweaty on his thighs and he felt dizzy. Liam was kidnapped and held for ransom by a cartel - which cartel? And where was he? And how had he allowed this to happen?

The president’s solemn voice echoed throughout the UN’s chambers. 

“Monsieur Payne has been undercover the last month, trying to infiltrate an international cartel to better understand the supply chain of the new designer drug Carrot. His cover was blown - we think it was a malfunction with his face sheet- and we have a deadline of less than two days. As you know, we do not negotiate with terrorists, criminals, or cartels. So if we want to help Monsieur Payne, we will have to move fast. We don't know his current location. So any ideas or information you might have, please share, as time is crucial. ”

There was subdued murmuring around the room, and Zayn could feel all the glances thrown his way. The back of his neck crawled, he hated when people stared at him. He looked back down at his screen - Madame Khatri’s serious face looked around the room. 

Zayn thought of Liam - brave and foolish to the end. Only his former bandmate would be kidnapped and under severe durress and make a point to insult one of his captors - telling him he needed gum, what the fuck was he thinking.

And then Zayn remembered.

Years ago, when they were in the band together and it was All Direction day - a truly ridiculous day celebrating the band’s success, as well as as a day dedicated to their many fans around One World - he remembered Liam standing in front of a map of One World, with all the sub-countries labeled. He looked at a tiny island and asked, ‘there’s a country called Gum?”

Everyone had laughed, and Louis had ribbed him - but Liam flashed one of his bright smiles highlighting his perfectly straight white teeth and didn’t seem at all bothered - but what Zayn knew, and very few other people understood, was that Liam’s sense of humor was drier than a desert - often times people failed to pick up on his sly jokes and quips. 

While many watching assumed Liam showed his lack of geographic knowledge, Zayn knew he was just being silly and taking the piss out of himself.

Zayn shot to his feet. He looked around to see everyone staring at him. He slowly sat back down and tapped his mic - “Uh, hi. Hello. I know where Liam - er, Monsieur Payne, is being kept.”

There was a long pause.

“Yes, Monsieur Malik?” Madame Khatri looked up at him expectantly.

“Uh, I think he’s being kept on Guam. The island of Guam.”

“And what makes you think that? We were unable to geo-tract the video - the signal’s been bounced all over the world, there was no way to tell the origin.”

“Uh, well, I just.” Zayn hesitated to explain - he didn’t think the snooty summit members would understand Liam’s sense of humor. Zayn somehow still felt the need to protect Liam from ridicule, even at moments when his life was in imminent danger. 

“It was, like, an in-joke. We called Guam - gum. Uh, don’t ask. Please. Trust me. He’s there.”

“Well.” Madame Khatri looked doubtful, but gave a short nod. “We have no other leads. We will take you at your word, Monsieur Malik, due to your long standing history and knowledge of Monsieur Payne.”

Zayn felt uncomfortable, but there was nothing he could say to disagree with that statement. 

“We’ll send out an ops team and you will all be briefed the minute we receive proof of life. I don’t have to tell you not to breathe a word of this to anyone - having one of our own in danger is in direct opposition to our mission and reputation. Meeting adjourned.”

Proof of life? 

Zayn was on his feet before the last words left the president’s mouth; he raced across his row and cut off more than one person as he took the stairs, two at a time, trying to reach the ground seating before the senior members exited the room. He caught Madame Khatri as she walked out the door.

“Madame, a moment?” 

She turned and raised an eyebrow. “I have another meeting to attend, what is it?”

“I uh, I want to go. To Guam. Can I accompany the Special Ops team? Please. Please?” 

Zayn held his breath as she raised both her eyebrows, giving him a look of disbelief. He ignored the stares of the members exiting the room, who flowed around them as if they were two stones in a river.

“And how exactly do you expect to help the ops team? Play music at a loud volume until they release Monsieur Payne?” 

Zayn tried not to wince. 

Whereas Liam had been approved for field work his first month in, Zayn had not - he had been told that a combination of his temperament, distinctive, striking looks and sensitive nature rendered him unable to perform field work and undercover work. So he spent his time gathering information by performing his DJ sets, attending fancy dinners and being a good listener, and, when necessary, seducing powerful One World denizens across the planet to obtain information. However, he envied Liam and his ability to disappear into missions, into another persona, living his life in a hidden recess somewhere on the globe, and going about his day in anonymity, not needing to trade on his former band name or fame. Except for in between missions, when Liam and himself would run into each other on the much-too-small international DJ circuit. 

“Uh, well, no. But like, I can help negotiate, help talk to them, you know-”

“Zayn.” Madame Khatri cut him off, not unkindly. “This will not be a diplomatic mission, yeah? This will be an extraction. A rescue. There will probably be casualties. Hopefully none on our side. You understand that if you died on the mission, the world, not even your own family, would know how you truly died? We would have to cover up your death, and make up a plausible story about how a former All Direction member, and current party DJ died. It wouldn’t be pretty.”

“Alright.” Zayn hung his head and stared at the ground. His sneakers were lace-up MoodShoes, their color was slowly turning midnight black, as if the stars in the sky had all been extinguished, leaving nothing but empty space. He looked up at the president through his lashes, and mumbled. “I just want to be there when he’s extracted, is all, like, so he has a familiar face.”

She sighed. “I will regret this, no doubt. But you can accompany the Ops team.”

Zayn looked up, eyes wide. Was she really giving him permission?

“But. And I mean this. You stay back. You let the OPs team do their job. You do NOT interfere in any way. Am I clear?”

“Yes. Crystal. Crystal clear! Thank you Prisha - um, Madam Khatri. Thank you so much.”

“I’ll have Ivan send you the details of when the team flies out in an hour. Do NOT be late. They won’t wait for you.”

She gave a curt nod and walked away, muttering under her breath about former boy banders and their impossible to resist sad faces, and Zayn raced back up the stairs to grab his coffee that he had forgotten in his haste.

He had to rush back to his hotel room and grab a bag and head to the private airfield the UN maintained on the outskirts of Geneva. And what did one wear to an extraction, Zayn wondered. He was picturing all black, but he didn't want to look like a common cat burglar. Did he have any dark sweaters that had military style lapels on them? He did, but his wardrobe was back home in London, for his short trip to Geneva he had barely packed a bag. He would have to order some new clothes. He whipped out his PDS and quickly placed an order, requesting the new pieces be dropped off at the hotel in 15 minutes so they would be waiting for him when he returned. 

Feeling better, he grabbed his coffee and raced back down the stairs. He wasn’t sure why he had to be there when Liam was rescued, considering most of the time his former bandmate caused him nothing but annoyance, but, he reasoned, if HE had been in Liam’s place, it would be nice to see someone familiar, even a rival, which he supposed the two of them were nowadays, instead of the close friends they had been during their time in All Direction. Zayn sighed. Of all the relationships in his life, the one with Liam caused him the most confusion and consternation. But that was neither here nor there. It was rescue time.

CHAPTER 2: THE INCIDENT IN GUAM

***Bonjour! It’s DJ Lorde. This next song was never a hit, but it was near and dear to my own heart and features some of my favorite people. Give it up for the remix of my song ‘Homemade Dynamite’ featuring Khalid, Post Malone, and SZA.***

Several hours later, Zayn was high up in the air, headed to the tiny island of Guam. He had been looking at pictures and videos on his PDS - it was a shame he was going for a rescue mission as Guam appeared to be an island paradise - beautiful beaches, very little pollution, and friendly people and good food. 

He searched the size of the island- 212 square miles. One of the OP (Operation Personnel) members informed Zayn that because the island was so small, the UN had technology that would predict the likeliest place Liam would be found - unless of course they were moving him around, which would make it harder to find him based on the tech’s algorithm of locational statistical probability - the OP member told Zayn there were 26 places Liam could be found - they were starting at the most probable location and working their way down the list.

The mini SolarPlane had been selected because it was a SolarHeli hybrid - once the plane reached a low enough altitude, the machine would convert to a SolarHeli, allowing it to fly very close to the ground, and be able to hover almost silently on its solar blades, allowing the OP members to drop a ladder and scramble to the ground so they could hopefully catch Liam’s captors unaware.

Zayn squirmed in the uncomfortable seat, and fiddled with the lapels on his new military style jumper - it was worth paying an astronomical amount for InstaDelivery so he could be properly outfitted for a rescue mission. A traitorous thought crossed his brain while he tried to focus on his nice new clothes; but the cold, vile thought pushed its way to the forefront of his mind - was Liam alive? He pushed the thought back down and admired his shiny new combat boots, black and heavy, the laces crisp.

His sartorial day dreams were interrupted by a sudden flurry of activity - the OP team, silent for the majority of the two hour flight from Geneva, all stood, adjusting clothing and checking their tactical gear. Zayn was under strict instructions to stay on the plane no matter what happened, but his stomach clenched - was he about to see Liam’s face?

The first, most likely place Liam could be held at was a sprawling complex in the middle of a small village that had been under surveillance before - Zayn watched the OP team gracefully scamper down a long rope ladder that descended from the plane, where they jumped off the last rung to land on the roof - it was dark, the middle of the night, as Guam was ten hours ahead of GMT, and the team’s objective was to be as swift and silent as possible: to extract Liam, capture the kidnappers, and leave before the surrounding neighbors knew an extraction had taken place.

Thirty minutes later, Zayn’s nails were bitten down and he couldn’t stop pacing. The only people in the plane were the pilot and co-pilot, himself, and one heavily armed guard. The guard gave him an annoyed look, but Zayn couldn’t help the pacing. 

A head, covered in the sleek black helmet the OP members wore, popped up through the ladder hatch in the middle of the plane. Zayn took a step forward and paused - the OP member pulled the rest of their body up and stood to full height - he couldn’t see their expression through their face mask, but the OP member slowly shook their head no. Zayn felt deflated, and sat back down before his legs gave out on him. One location down. 25 more possible locations to go. 

***

Twenty-eight hours later, the state of Zayn’s nail beds had not improved and he felt ready to pass out from exhaustion. He had tried to sleep, but was only able to manage an intermittent doze before waking up - not his usual slow, cat-like rise to consciousness, but an instant, full-alert wakefulness that caused his heart to furiously pound while he looked around the plane for a sign of Liam. 

The OP team worked in shifts to help stave off their own exhaustion, and Zayn became used to them dropping through the ladder hatch while several stayed behind to rest, and then rinse, repeat, until the sun had come up, the day had passed, and then it was night again.

Even in the bright of day the plane continued to cross the island, methodically going down the list of targeted holding places - with the strict 48 hour deadline, they couldn’t afford to to wait for the cover of night, and so upped their risk factor by searching during daylight hours. 

Zayn caught glimpses of long, white sandy beaches and green palm fronds and the light azure of the ocean and everything was surreal - the ominous ticking of the clock as Liam’s deadline fast approached contrasted with the island paradise he could only see from up above - like a bird passing overhead, flying onwards to their actual destination.

“Location twenty-five,” a voice barked out. 

Zayn looked up from where he had been playing with his boot laces. 

“Already?” he croaked out, before he stopped himself.

No one acknowledged he had spoken.

The plane hovered over a small, rundown house with a flat metal roof, in the middle of a field - the sky was dark but sunrise was coming again, peeking over the horizon, as everything turned from night black to smokey gray - several of the OP members scurried down the ladder, landing on the roof of the small house. 

Two remaining OP members stayed behind, and Zayn settled back down, too exhausted to pace - he was numb. His mind was blank and he waited through endless minutes in the gray dawn.

This time, instead of a half hour of silence followed by the OP teams empty-handed return, only five minutes passed (per Zayn’s newly purchased military compliant Bvlgari watch), before the sound of gunfire, staccato and loud in the silence, echoed into the early dawn. 

The two OP members in the plane looked at each other and jumped to their feet - the OP team had silencers on their weapons, and were supposed to capture the kidnappers alive - they had not been the ones shooting. They raced to the ladder, one looked at Zayn, and shouted, muffled through his face mask, “Stay here.”

Zayn wasn’t about to argue, but he waited a moment, and then knelt down on his stomach, head sticking over the rope ladder hatch so he could get a better view of the scene below. His exhaustion had vanished, to be replaced with a rapidly beating heart that seemed ready to jump out of his throat. He could feel the ridges of the floor digging into his stomach through his sweater, and his legs felt stiff from not stretching enough in the cramped plane, and his hair was starting to go limp and greasy, but all of that was a fleeting thought - his concentration was on the house below. He hated heights, and looking down, even though the distance was not high, gave him the sensation of vertigo. He closed his eyes, tightly, took deep breaths, and then slowly opened them.

The last two OP members landed on the roof and rolled into a crouch with weapons pulled out, carefully giving the perimeter a sweep, before crawling over to the edge of the roof - the house was short and squat and only a single story in height, Zayn noticed. He watched the OP members look over the side of the roof, and then gunfire, from the back of the house it appeared, echoed loudly in short bursts, and he watched the OP members make the short drop to the ground, then run towards the back of the house, out of sight.

Zayn leaned forward, shoulders hanging over the hatch, and tried to get a clearer view. He was so focused on trying to spot the OP team, it took him a moment to notice a lone figure - were they crawling on the ground? - from the front of the house. There was something familiar, he thought, as he watched the figure crawl on their hands and knees across the empty expanse of field that surrounded the house. Could it possibly be...

Before he could second guess himself, he scrambled to his feet and carefully walked to the hatch ledge, stretching one leg out until his boot found footing on a ladder rung. Fuck, fuck. Heights were the worst. He lowered himself down, feeling the opposite of stealthy, as he awkwardly climbed down the ladder. He could hear the co-pilot furiously shouting after him, but he ignored it, and tried to go faster. When he jumped to the roof of the building, he misjudged the distance, and stumbled, rolling to the ground. 

He paused, panting for air.

Above him the SolarHeli hovered, almost silent except for the faint whine of the blades - the metal roof was warm on his back, heated from the hot island sunshine during the day. He took a deep breath, and then heard gunshots and yelling, and carefully crawled to the edge of the roof, peering down - the drop wasn’t too bad, the building was squat and low to the ground. He carefully went to the edge, legs hanging over, then pushed himself off, remembering to bend his knees and not lock his legs during the landing - he hit the ground and it was jarring, but not too bad, and he took off, trying to sprint, but the heavy combat boots made it difficult. 

His eyes locked on the figure crawling across the field - the figure rose to their feet, glanced behind them toward the house, and started to jog. The sky changed from grey to light blues and pinks - when the figure turned, silhouetted against the emerging light, Zayn had no more doubts.

He put on a burst of speed, and wanted to yell, but he didn’t want anyone from the house to hear or spot them, so he tried to get closer to the jogger. When he was right behind them he saw the filthy white shirt and rugged cargo trousers and bare feet, and he closed the distance.

“Leeyum,” he tried to softly call, but he was out of breath and it was more of a wheeze. “Liam, stop, it’s me!”

Liam turned and stopped, and Zayn tried to stop, but his combat boots tripped him up, and he plowed into Liam, taking them both down with a grunt at the edge of the field, right into a thicket of reeds. 

“Oof,” Liam groaned, when they both stopped moving.

Zayn was lying on top of him, and Liam didn’t exactly smell fresh or look good, but Zayn had never been so relieved to see him. His eyes looked sunken and his cheekbones were hollow, but his brown eyes looked upon Zayn like a man having a vision of a mirage in the desert. 

Then a moment later his eyes narrowed.

“What the fuck are you doing here Zayn?” Liam’s voice sounded raspy, and he was probably dehydrated, but Zayn was confused.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, who let you come here?”

“Uh.” Zayn didn’t understand what Liam was going on about. “Madame Khatri?”

“The president of the UN personally gave you permission - you, who have no field training, to come on a dangerous rescue mission? I find that hard to believe.” 

Zayn felt like he had been knocked sideways. His temper flared, quick like lightning, before he could reign it in. “Ok, bro - first of all, fuck you. I have plenty of field training.”

Liam shook his head. Neither of them had moved, Zayn was still lying across Liam’s, admittedly very firm, body, and the reeds swayed in the early morning breeze, creating a soothing rustling sound while the tall slender stalks hid their bodies from sight.

“No, you have field training in attending fashion shows and seducing models - you do NOT have field training in taking down cartels, or undercover work, or a fucking rescue mission. Did you mess around with Khatri to get her to agree to this?” 

Zayn’s temper exploded from a flame to a full wildfire. He pushed as hard as he could to lift himself off Liam’s chest, ignoring his grunt of protest. He stood amongst the reeds, watching Liam pull himself to his feet. 

“Fuck you bro. I came because I thought -” Zayn paused, for a second, not wanting to voice his frantic thoughts. “I came because I thought you, like, might want to see a familiar face after rescue, but, don’t worry - next time I’ll let you figure out how to escape yourself. Or don’t. I don’t give a fuck.” 

He turned to head back to the house, shootout be damned, when Liam grabbed his arm. His voice was still raspy, but softer, when he spoke. 

“Look, Zayn, I’m not unhappy to see you - it’s dangerous, mate, is all. And I’m sorry, truly sorry, about what I said about you and Khatri.”

Zayn glared. “Are you sorry? Because you didn’t fucking hesitate to accuse me of that. Don’t fucking conflate my field work with my actual life. I thought you of all people would know better than to believe someone’s reputation, over who they actually are. Guess you didn’t learn anything from the years in the band.”

“No, Zayn, I didn’t -” Liam sighed, and gently squeezed his arm from where he was still holding on, his hand large and warm. 

Zayn looked into Liam’s eyes. He looked so, so tired, and Zayn wouldn’t forgive Liam’s assumptions anytime soon, but some of his white-hot anger melted away. 

“I don’t want you getting hurt. Or doing something reckless on my account. And I know the field work is just that - field work. It’s just hard because I see and hear and read about your latest conquests and it makes me - I - it doesn’t matter. What I mean is -” Liam looked lost. “If something happened to you because you put yourself in danger on my account - ” 

Zayn shook free of his grip, and started walking. He looked at the house - he saw OP members exiting, with several people whose arms were tied behind their back, and he saw the SolarHeli start to lower to the ground. The extraction was over.

“You never think I can fucking handle myself. You never believe in me.”

“Zayn, you know that’s not true.” 

Liam kept talking, but Zayn wasn’t listening. His mind drifted to his first DJ set two years earlier….

CHAPTER 3: ZAYN’S FIRST DJ SET

Two years before the incident in Guam…

***Bonjour! DJ Steve Aoki here - and the next track I’ll be playing is a throwback. We did this collab some years back - today he’s a big shot CEO, but you know him as Louis Tomlinson from All Direction. Here’s our hit song, from four years ago - I can't believe it’s been that long - 'Just Hold On.'***

The bathroom was cramped and smelled horrible, but the door locked, and for that Zayn was grateful. 

He leaned over the toilet bowl, his stomach empty. He had been dry heaving for the last several minutes. He had nothing left to throw up.

He tried to wipe his palms on his trousers, but they were leather and it felt slippery and futile. The jacket over his thin, low-cut vest was also leather, and he had the shakes and the cold sweats and leather was one of the worst things he could be wearing at this moment. 

There was a knock at the door. 

“Une seconde s’il vous plaît,” Zayn rasped out, throat burning. 

He shakily stood to his feet and stumbled over to the tiny sink; he rinsed his mouth out, spitting and watching the water swirl in the rust covered basin. He looked at himself in the small mirror - he looked wan and pale, and the awful fluorescent light wasn’t helping. He wanted to douse his face in cold water, but he was wearing a lot of makeup. He opened the door a crack, expecting either an assistant, or the concert organizer themselves. Instead he was face to face with Liam Payne.

“What the - “ Zayn mumbled, then tried to shut the door in Liam’s face, but it was too late; Liam had wedged his foot in the door.

“Liam - Monsieur Payne. Get out of here, ok - I don’t want to see anyone right now, and I especially don’t want to see - ooff - what the fuck bro -”

Liam had managed to push the door open, and Zayn, in his weakened state, was no match for his strength. Stupid arm muscles, he thought absently, noting that Liam was wearing a beatiful, long sleeved blue silk shirt with bright pink roses, the sleeves rolled up to highlight his forearm muscles, and his hair fell in soft waves across his forehead. Liam looked very, very nice.

“Zaynie, just let me - “ and the fact that Liam wasn’t even trying to use the new French they had been instructed to learn, but instead used his old nick name from the band days, did things to Zayn, it really did, and it was unfair of Liam to act like everything was the same as when they were inseparable friends in All Direction.

“Didn’t know you were performing tonight,” Zayn gave up, closing the toilet lid and sitting on top of it, while Liam leaned back against the closed door, folding his arms across his chest and looking concerned.

“'M not,” Liam said, with a shrug.

“Then what are you doing here?”

“Came to see you perform.” Liam said it so simply and straightforwardly, but nothing between them was simple anymore. 

“Why? So you could watch me lose my shit, lose my lunch. Watch me have a good panic before I go onstage.” Zayn paused. “If I even make it on stage.” He dropped his head and sighed, twisting the ring on his left middle finger. It was a silver signet ring with a lion that had a ruby for its eye, and was one of his favorites. 

Liam ignored him and went over to the sink. Zayn watched him run the water, then he pulled a small towel, the kind they were always given to wipe the sweat from their face and neck during a concert, from his back pocket - he ran it quickly under the water, then wrung it out, and folded it in half. 

“Lean forward,” he instructed.

“What?” Zayn narrowed his eyes.

“Zayn, please just fucking lean forward.”

Zayn shrugged, and tilted forward, elbows resting on his thighs, and he felt the warmth of Liam’s body as leaned right up against his side in the small space between the toilet and the wall, and he was about to protest, when he felt the press of the cool cloth on the back of his sweaty neck - it felt so good he almost let out a soft whimper, but silenced himself at the last moment.

He felt Liam move the towel around, then he felt fingers, so soft the touch was barely noticeable, run up the back of his buzzed scalp.

“When did you cut your hair off?” Liam’s voice was soft.

“Last week.” Zayn’s eyes were closed, focused on the contrast of the warmth of Liam against his side versus the cool cloth on his neck. Liam’s fingers rubbed against the back of his head, more firmly this time, and Zayn felt himself exhale, nerves subsiding as Liam’s fingers moved to gently rub behind his ears. 

“What made you do that?”

“Dunno. Wanted to while we were in the band, but you know - “ Zayn didn’t finish. He didn’t need to explain to Liam.

“Lean back,” Liam instructed.

Zayn didn’t even protest this time, slowly leaning back, and Liam removed the cloth from his neck, but then placed the cool side against his forehead, and his fingers, strong, capable fingers, Zayn thought absently, rubbed the front of his scalp, and this time Zayn did let out a tiny whimper, but in the cramped space of the bathroom it almost echoed against the walls. He closed his eyes and tried not to feel embarrassed.

“I’ll be watching you, from stage left, the whole time, yeah? So you can go out there, but if you start to feel panicky, just look for me, ok, and I’ll be right there.”

“Why’re you being so nice?” Zayn mumbled, trying to pretend he was not relaxed, but he could have fallen asleep if he had been on a more comfortable seat than a closed toilet lid. 

“I’m always nice.” Liam sounded indignant, and Zayn tried not to giggle. “You just don’t let me be nice to you, is all.” 

“Not true.” His eyes were still closed. “You haven't been nice to me since you found out I was becoming a DJ. Or, part of the UN DJ program. You didn’t want me to be a DJ - no faith, bro. You have no faith in me.”

LIam sighed, loudly. “Zayn. It’s not that I think you can’t do it, or shouldn’t do it. It’s not just performing sets at parties, you know. It’s dangerous work, is all, and I know how you are - you wear your heart on your sleeve, yeah? You’re sensitive, and artistic. Nothing wrong with that, I just don’t think -” 

Zayn opened an eye, but only to glare at Liam. “And you aren’t sensitive?”

“I am. But I can turn it off, I can push through, and you - “

“You think I”m weak. You really think I”m fucking helpless and will break down-”

“Stop putting words in my mouth Zayn!” 

Zayn opened both eyes to see Liam pull away from him, and the cool cloth fell off his forehead and into his lap when he sat back up. “Well, fuck you Liam. They just failed me for undercover and Ops field work. I hope that makes you happy. They said I wasn’t suited for it - so they’re going to use me for high end field work - so now i’ll just get to fuck my way through fashion week and fancy yacths to get intel - does that make you happy?”

Liam’s eyes flashed and his mouth, normally full, pouty lips, was drawn thin and tight. “You know, you don’t actually have to fuck your way through high society, you can just flirt and pretend -”

Zayn shrugged, all violent shoulders. “Might as well use my looks for something, yeah? Might as well be useful. We can’t all be like you - approved for field work your first month in.”

“Zayn, listen - you honestly think you could do undercover work - how? No one can forget your face once they see it-”

Zayn stood up, cutting Liam off. “Face screens are a thing, Liam. Whatever, mate. I have my first set. I have to get out there. And you think you can turn it off - maybe so. But I know you. And I know that one day, all this bottling up you do, all this pushing your shit down and not dealing with it, will come back to bite you.”

Liam was silent, but got out of his way, and Zayn opened the door, then turned at the last moment. “Thanks, uh. For checking on me.”

“I’ll be on stage left, ok?” Liam was giving him one of those patented sincere Liam looks, eyes so wide and earnest it caused Zayn a physical pain in his chest. “Bonne chance. Not that you need it. I know you’ve got this.”

“Yeah uh. Thanks again. Merci, Liam.” Zayn said, hurrying down the long hallway that led to the back of the stage. He didn’t look back. 

He could hear the crowd roar, and his stomach clenched, and his hands shook, but he had nothing left in his stomach. He checked his jacket pocket for gum, found a piece and quickly chewed as he walked up the backstage steps. He took a deep breath. His first solo DJ set. He couldn’t believe it. He squared his shoulders, and pulled the heavy curtain aside. It was now or never.

***

Thirty minutes later, Zayn had learned several things. 

One - he would never, never wear leather to a DJ set again - his entire body was soaked in sweat, but it had nowhere to go, trapped in air-tight leather. Ugh, he felt disgusting. 

Second, he had a hard time making eye-contact with the crowd, but he tried his best - most of the time he was busy looking down at his equipment, even if he had practiced his set so much he knew it by heart. He wondered how much of the crowd was actually there to see him, Zayn - or were they only there to see if Zayn Malik, former boy bander and the quietest former member of All Direction, would be able to hack it as a DJ? So far the crowd reception had been positive, they cheered in all the correct places - at the beat drops, when he started a new song. He was proud of his set - 13 songs that he had worked on in the past year - some of the songs the beats had been created during the All Direction years - him and Liam in the tour bus late at night or in nameless arenas between rehearsals. He wondered if Liam recognized or even remembered those times, let alone the beats that formed the background to the constant ebb and flow of the crowds’ energy. 

And third, he dreaded to think what his next set would be like if Liam wasn’t there - every couple of minutes he would quickly glance to stage left and as promised there was Liam, standing next to some of the tech crew, bopping in place, dancing like an absolute fool, with no self-consciousness or shame. 

Zayn smiled despite himself. 

He knew, from years of sharing the stage with Liam, that it was almost impossible for the other man to stay still both before and during a concert. He had memories of grabbing Liam around the waist and forcibly sitting him in his lap to help calm him down before a show - looking back, it was mildly embarrassing; was there really no place other than Zayn’s lap he could have used to calm him down? But Liam always obliged, wiggling happily down into Zayn’s lap and calming down enough to sit still until it was time for vocal warm up. 

Looking at Liam now, Zayn felt a swirl of emotion. After All Direction disbanded, he had planned to live his post band days somewhere quiet and isolated while making music (HIS style of music) at his own pace and leisure. He had never expected to keep up the breakneck lifestyle that Liam seemed determined to keep living. But when he saw Liam had started DJing across One World, something in him snapped, and he had looked into starting to DJ the very next day - and his dream of a quiet life was over before it had really started. 

And then the UN had come calling; and never in his wildest dream did Zayn anticipate recruitment from the United Nations. He’d been in a boy bad for fuck’s sake! He just wanted to spin tunes and make and produce and write his own music.

He remembered the recruiters explaining their prestigious, top secret DJ (Diplomate de Justice,™ 2590) program. Every year the UN selected one or two DJs from around the world to serve a six year term as a secret United Nations member that continued spinning records in between undercover missions. It was crucial that no one knew he worked for the UN. After he had accepted and digitally signed away the next six years of his life - against his better judgement (and he couldn’t help but think of his family, and how close knit they were, and how could he possibly keep that part of his life a secret from them?), the recruiters informed him that one Liam Payne was their other new recruit for the year, and they would go through orientation and training together.

Zayn remembered calling Liam on his PDS later that night - he couldn’t wait to share the news that he had been chosen as well - it would be like old times - Zayn and Liam traveling the world and sharing adventures.

But Liam hadn’t reacted like Zayn expected - instead of being excited that Zayn would be joining him, he tried to dissuade Zayn from signing up, telling him the lifestyle wasn’t for him. Zayn, whose motto had long been, ‘fuck people who tell you no,’ dug in his heels further, determined to follow through with the DJ training. Zayn had not gotten over the hurt he felt, of one of his best friends actively discouraging him from pursuing something so important and life changing. 

And even now, on the eve of his first set, it had been Liam to come in and calm his nerves, like only he knew how, and yet he was still trying to get Zayn out of the program and was not supporting him. The hurt and confusion swirled together, creating a miasma of sensation in his still empty stomach. Zayn reached over for his water, but only allowed himself small sips so as not to empty his stomach again. He looked over at Liam for a long moment - he had stopped bopping, and leaned against a pillar, staring back at Zayn. How could someone be both so close and yet so far away at the same time? 

The hard synth beat repeated itself one time too many, and Zayn turned back, focused on his set again. He couldn’t let Liam distract him. It was his show now. 

CHAPTER 4: LOUIS HAS A MISSION

Four years after Zayn’s first DJ set and two years after the incident in Guam…

***Bonjour! Welcome back, I’m DJ Marshmello and you’re listening to Power Hour - next up, I was lucky enough to join up with these guys for the feel good track of the year - this is 'Happier,' featuring Bastille, enjoy!***

“Bonjour,” Zayn greeted Jones, the admin behind the intimidatingly large desk, or more accurately, the gatekeeper, of Louis Tomlinson’s swanky corporate offices.

“Bonjour, Monsieur Malik,” Jones replied, not a hair or eyebrow out of place, with a nod. “Plez, have a seat.” 

Jones gestured to the overstuffed chairs lining the small room outside of Louis’s corner office in Tomlinson SportzWear.

Zayn had been summoned to Louis’ office, via the other man’s urgent PDS call, and while he had told the other man in no uncertain terms to “Fuck off, Louis, I’m busy,” Louis had insisted it was a matter of international importance (“Malik - the fate of One World depends on it!”)

Zayn went to take a seat, and then noticed the man already in one of the chairs, one leg crossed over another, and an insouciant expression on his face. 

“Monsieur Payne,” Zayn sneered. “What are you doing here?” 

“Monsieur Malik,” he tilted his head. “Could ask you the same thing?”

Zayn tried not to roll his eyes. Liam sat there, in a fitted steel gray suit, his brown hair longer than the last time Zayn had seen him, three months ago at the annual United Nations One World Summit; it now fell in soft waves across his forehead. He hadn’t seen it that long since his first DJ set in Ibiza four years ago - shortly afterwards Liam had buzzed all his hair off - at the time Zayn had felt nothing but annoyance as he had literally buzzed his own hair off not several weeks before. 

Zayn felt an urge to push back the swoopy hair and then give him a hearty slap across the face. Thus were his mixed feelings every time he ran into his former bandmate and fellow DJ (diplomate de justice, ™ 2590). And why did he and Liam have to go into the exact same profession, ensuring multiple awkward run-ins over the past four years, Zayn often wondered.

Zayn thought about their days in the band - the two of them had been thick as thieves for five years in their late teens and early twenties, and then All DIrections had broken up, as boy bands inevitably did, and Harry, Niall and Louis had gone their separate ways. Louis founded the uber successful SportzWear, Harry became a fashion designer of avant garde sartorial dreams (or nightmares, Zayn thought, depending on one’s point of view and feelings about high waisted trousers and ethereal, floaty chiffon), and Niall started One World’s first SkyGOLF business.

The other three had put their All Direction money to good use, investing in various business opportunities and pursuing their dreams. 

But not Liam and him, oh no; the two of them seemingly fated to be tied together across One World no matter how much Zayn tried to avoid him. And Zayn tried not to think about the irony that him and Liam, arguably the two most sensitive members of the band who had the hardest time adjusting to their dizzying rise to fame, no matter how brief it was, were the two who had both gone into the same high-profile career choice.

It made sense, Zayn knew; the two of them loved music so much that creating beats and dropping their latest records at endless raves and parties was the perfect fit (and how many DJs could both create the beat and then supply the vocal over the track, Zayn thought, trying not be too smug about it), but it was the justice part, the “day part” of the job that didn’t seem a fit for either of them. Zayn was a private person, but when the band ended, he realized he wanted to be part of something greater than himself, something that would be his legacy, leave his mark on One World. He knew Liam had to feel the same way - one did not simply go into the profession of DJ for the glory, it could be a very monotonous, and yet also very dangerous job, and the fact that no one knew, except their fellow top secret DJ coalition and the other UN members, didn’t make it any easier. 

“Louis called me, of course, why else would I be here?” Zayn crossed one leg over the other, and then realized he mirrored Liam’s pose, and quickly uncrossed his legs. His pants were so tight that he didn’t really have much freedom of movement anyway. After seeing Liam’s suit, he was glad he had dressed up himself, but his black trousers and black blazer (worn without a shirt underneath, and if he noticed Liam staring at the new ink on his chest he tried not to feel too pleased) were fresh off the runaway and were designed more for a catwalk prowl then to sit in a stiff lobby chair. 

“Oui, oui,” Liam said impatiently. “But why did he call you here?”

Zayn frowned. “He didn’t say, vague bastard. Said the fate of One World depends on it. So, being Loius, could mean fuck all.”

Liam barked out a laugh. “Said the same thing to me. Wonder what he’s got up his sleeve?”

Zayn shrugged, quiet, but internally his mind was racing. He had seen Louis many times since the band broke up, but he had never called Zayn, and Liam apparently, with such an urgent request. 

“Messieurs, plez proceed to the office, Monsieur Tomlinson is ready for you both.” Jones gave a perfunctory wave.

Zayn stood, as did Liam, and they walked into the lavish corner office, replete with a fantastic panorama of smoggy, blurry London, seen from sheer glass walls. Louis sat behind an even more ridiculously large and intimidating desk, and stood up to greet them. He came around from the desk, enveloping first Zayn, and then Liam, in a bone-crushing hug.

“Bonjour you idiots! Malik! Payno! Together again, yeah? How long has it been since we’ve all been together?” He pulled back and looked at them. “Too fucking long that’s for sure. Look at you two. So busy you forgot to do laundry Zayn? No shirt under a blazer - what a brave move for you.”

“I think he pulls it off,” Liam said, giving Zayn a slow once over, like he hadn’t been looking at his chest already when they’d been waiting in the lobby. 

“And Liam - I hope your gym is paying YOU instead of you paying them. You’re becoming a walking advert for them yeah?”

Liam giggled and Zayn tried not to find it cute.

He was still suspicious of Louis’ motives, as any sane person should be. “Are Harry and Niall on their way? This an impromptu fucking reunion you didn’t tell us about?”

Louis laughed, slapping Zayn on the arm, none too gently, before taking a seat behind his desk. His grin was wide. “Zaynie - always so fucking paranoid. You haven’t changed one bit.”

Zayn scowled.

“But no, to answer your question - no Harry or Niall today, just you two slags. Water, tea?”

“Non, merci,” Liam and Zayn said, eerily in sync.

Zayn rolled his eyes, avoiding eye contact with Liam, which was hard as their two chairs were pushed up right against each other, facing Louis’ desk, and he very carefully did not rest his arm along the arm rest, not wanting to accidentally bump Liam’s arm, while Louis laughed.

“You two. Both of you. Have not changed.” Louis smiled. “Like two pieces of a puzzle, yeah?”

Liam cleared his throat, and Zayn recognized that, from hours spent in United Nations meetings with him, as his, ‘get on with it’ throat noise. “Get on with it Lou - you brought us here for a reason?”

Zayn tried to hide his smile, ducking his head, then realized he was smiling because he DID know Liam so well. His smile disappeared, and he sat up straighter. He had a mad slouch, which years of being in an official position had yet to cure him of it. “C’mon Louis.”

“Alright, alright. No small talk with you two. I know, I know, you’re both SO busy.” Louis smiled though, fingers steepling together, leaning forward over his massive desk, a manic look in his sharp blue eyes that Zayn recognized - he was about to try and drag him and Liam into something that would blow up in their faces, or at the very least cause a modicum of trouble, thus was Louis’ Modus Operandi, and always had been. 

“So, something came into my hands recently, that got me to thinking that maybe everything we thought we knew about the work week and calendars and time itself is wrong,” he paused dramatically to push his fringe out of his face with one hand, and stared expectantly at Zayn and Liam.

“Do go on, mate. Edge of my seat here.” Liam was dry as a desert, per usual, and Zayn once again found himself trying to hide his smile.

Louis looked back and forth at them, eyes wide, then they narrowed and he scowled. “Uh, fine, fun-suckers, both of ya. Well, here it is.” He pushed a piece of paper, face down, across his desk. “Be gentle with it - it’s been treated with preservation spray but it’s still old as shite.”

Zayn looked at it curiously. One rarely saw actual paper anymore, outside of a museum. The paper looked yellow and creased, as if it had been folded and unfolded over and over. He didn’t move. Liam turned and glanced at him, and Zayn nodded. Liam carefully turned the paper over and held it up so both him and Zayn could read it.

They were quiet for a moment. The paper had what looked like an advertisement for a documentary. Eight Days a Week, it proclaimed in large letters on the top. Underneath that, the words ‘The Touring Years.’ And under that, “the band you know. The story you didn’t.” There were four men in old fashioned gray suits and dated -looking sunglasses.

“Who are the Beatles?’ Zayn asked. 

“Dunno. Well, I mean, assuming they’re an incredibly old band. Kind of reminds me of us, how we used to be forced to dress all fucking match-matchy when we started out.” 

“Horrible name for a boy band,” Liam said, and Zayn silently agreed with him, but wasn’t going to give Liam the satisfaction of verbally agreeing. 

Louis nodded. “Hey, they should make a documentary about us, yeah? This year is the ten year anniversary.”

“Well,” Liam looked uncomfortable. He started to bite his thumb nail. 

“Well what?” Zayn said, turning in his chair to try to force eye contact, but Liam was looking out the window. 

“Well.”

Zayn watched Liam pull his thumb out of his mouth, and he found himself staring at Liam’s bottom lip. 

“Well, uh. Actually. A company reached out to me and wanted to do a documentary on me - where are they now, type of thing. You know - boybander is now a DJ, type of thing. A day in the life. Or, well,” Liam amended, still avoiding eye contact, “several months in the life so they can get enough footage.”

“Leeyum,” Zayn was pissed. He took his job very seriously. “It’s one thing to have them film you at a party, but the United Nations would NOT approve of a camera crew following you around - what if they found out about your the other part of your job - we deal with highly sensitive issues of One World security, and the fact that you would be so irresponsible as to-”

“Wow. Really Zayn? You think I’m that stupid?” Liam turned, and now they were both glaring at each other, faces close together. Liam’s soft brown eyes had turned fierce.

Zayn felt himself getting heated, and Liam’s face was turning red.

“Of course I asked permission first, and the United Nations thinks it’s a great idea - gets me positive publicity - I’m sure you’ll be in it - if you want to be.”

Zayn clenched the armrests of his seat, to keep himself from smacking Liam - the urge was stronger than usual. Normally he wanted to pinch his cheeks and run his fingers through his hair and then maybe gently give him a slap, but today he really, really wanted to just take his hand hard across his handsome face.

“They would never say yes to that! It would be a security breach!” Zayn’s voice was rising.

Liam leaned even closer. “They get final viewing rights before it’s released, and will cut out anything that is an ongoing security matter or confidential. But they approved the director and the crew and everything. Their lawyers reviewed the contract for me.” 

Liam leaned back, and Zayn realized he’d been holding his breath. He slowly exhaled. “Well I still think it’s stupid. And unnecessary attention. You’re already famous - why do you need more attention?”

Liam sighed, running a hand through his hair, and Zayn gripped the armrest even tighter, he could feel his knuckles turning white. “It’s not about the attention. Why do you always assume the worst of me?” 

And now he sounded hurt, and Zayn looked away - he was not immune to Liam’s eyes, he didn’t think anybody could be really, not when his eyes turned sad and he looked like the world’s most despondent puppy.

“I don’t assume the worst. I don’t understand your motivations.” Zayn finally let go of the armrest and crossed his arms.

“Zayn, all the money made from this will go to charity. I was going to ask if you wanted to be a part of it, I wanted all the boys to be in it. But I figured you weren’t keen, I know how you feel about the days in the band.”

Zayn glared. “You have no idea how I feel. I have said time and again how much I appreciated my time -”

Liam cut him off. “Zayn, I know that, I know. I don’t think you’re ungrateful. But I know how you felt about the music we made. Do you honestly want to be part of a reunion video?”

The fact that Liam hadn’t asked him was what really hurt - no, he didn’t truly want to be in the video. But it would have been nice to be asked. Zayn shrugged, and was about to speak, when Louis spoke up.

“Listen, I didn’t bring you both here so I could be some weird mediator for your couples issues -”

“We’re not-” Once again Zayn and Liam were in sync without even trying.

“Yeah, whatever, so are you in or not?”

Zayn was reaching the end of his patience. “In for what?”

Louis sighed. “I need you two to investigate this - my friend Bernard, he’s a Professor of Ancient Artifacts at Cambridge, and he thinks - stay with me here - that way back before One World is as we know it today - he thinks that the calendar year was only 46 weeks, not 61 weeks, cause every week had eight days, not six.” 

Zayn looked at Liam, who looked back at him. They raised their eyebrows at each other. Even though Liam drove Zayn crazy, they had never lost the ability, honed in their band days, of silent facial communication, a skill that came in handy during UN meetings, when they invariably were in agreement with each other, but the older members of the UN seemed to always try to gang up and out vote them. 

“Ok,” Zayn said slowly. “But what does that mean?”

“What does that mean?” Louis scoffed. “I did the math - and you know how much I hate math - that means the average worker used to get 15 less days off a year then they do now. Bernard thinks that the average lifespan used to be in the mid 40s hundreds of years ago. But he thinks when it changed to six days for the working week, that was when the average lifespan increased to the low 50s.”

Zayn was skeptical. “But the average lifespan’s been in the low 50s for millenia. And it’s been a six day week since the advent of the calendar. It’s never been eight days, or anything else?”

Louis shook his head. “Bernard thinks it wasn’t always like that. He thinks around 2100 everything changed - he calls it ‘the great time event.”

“He sounds mental,” Liam muttered under his breath. 

“He’s not mental, he’s a genius, Liam. And you two should go visit him.” 

“Why?’ Zayn said blankly. 

“Uh. Well.” Louis looked uncomfortable. “You ‘re both invited to the Met Gala this year, right?” 

“Yeah,” Zayn said. “Harry’s helping me with my costume this year.”

“Mine too,” Liam said. 

“What’s the theme this year?” Louis asked, but he looked like he already knew the answer.

“Fashion Through Space and Time. But you already knew that. Everybody knows that. It’s the first time it will take place in their new location.”

The new location for the Met was on the moon - nicknamed Moon Met. Zayn loved everything space related, and he had never been to the Moon Colony, so when he found out the Metropolitan Museum of Art was opening a new branch on the moon and their grand opening would be the night of the next Met Gala - well he had been out of his mind excited about it for the past several years, and it was finally happening in a couple weeks. He and Harry had collaborated on his costume the past several months, and he couldn’t wait to show it off - he was surprised that Liam and Harry were also working on something - although he didn’t know if he was really surprised or more annoyed that neither one had said anything to him about it. Harry never brought up Liam around Zayn, but then Zayn usually brought him by complaining about him - Harry, good friend that he was, would listen to him vent, but he never spoke ill of Liam himself. 

Harry always was diplomatic. 

“So. There’s going to be an exhibit at Moon Met called Ancient Music - Bernard told me he thinks Eight Days a Week was a song the Beatles did, and then they named the documentary after the song. He said at the exhibit they’ll be a copy of the song - like a physical copy on some type of large black disc - I guess that’s how songs were played years ago. So I need you two to sneak away from the Gala, break into the Music exhibit, and steal the disc. Easy, right?”

Zayn didn’t need to look at Liam to know what the other man was thinking.

“Louis. But why? What’s the point?”

“The point? The point! LIsten mates, this will have global implications, ok? You know, Niall, Harry and I are on the Board for Ethical CEOs, yeah?”

“Yeah, so?” Liam said. 

Louis wasn’t just on the board - he was the head of the board - and thus was granted honorary UN membership, although he only came to the annual conference and didn’t sit in on regular meetings. He did know about the DJ program, however. Although Zayn didn’t think Louis was actually supposed to know - but somehow he found out all the secrets. He still remembered how casually Louis had brought it up in conversation to him a year or so ago, only to try and lie and sputter his way out of it. “Mate, give it up,” Louis had said. “I know you and Payno are both in the program, don’t worry, my lips are sealed.”

“This would change everything? If the work week used to be 8 days, not 6? If the life-span was shorter because people were working for seven days a week then taking one off - listen. Fifteen days might not seem like a lot, but you know how exhausted everybody is now. Most people burn out well before they hit 30. If we took away those 15 days - do you really want to be responsible for lowering people’s lifespan?”

“Hardly see how this would be OUR fault -” Zayn grumbled. 

“Zayn.” Louis looked deadly serious. “We are the lucky ones, yeah? We have money and the best healthcare and we can take vacations. Most people can’t. You need to steal the disc and then listen to it - if it says anything positive about working eight days a week, you need to destroy it. Can you imagine if Disnazon found this?”

Liam spoke up. “They’d lobby to return to the “good old days” of working eight days a week. And all the governments are in their pocket, so within a couple months…” he trailed off.

“You really think so?” Zayn was skeptical. Disnazon was evil, everybody knew that - 53% of the world’s population worked for them, and the UN and One World’s government stopped trying to break up the company for being too big hundreds of years ago. But would they really go so far as to try and change the world’s calendar itself? It seemed far-fetched.

“Zayn, you don’t know their CEO like I do. Why do you think the ethical CEO board meetings are in top-secret secured locations? Why do you think me, Harry, and Niall and everyone else on the board keeps private bodyguards on us at all times?” Louis shook his head. “Disnazon is everywhere. There is no hiding from them.”

Zayn frowned. He’d been a DJ for four years. He knew how fortunate he was to have diplomatic immunity. Even though no one was supposed to know he had it, if he ever did get in trouble the UN would pull some strings and he would be off the hook - suddenly it clicked.

“You bastard!” Zayn put all the pieces together. “You only asked us because we have immunity!” 

Louis held up his hands in a supplicating gesture. “Calm down. Yes, you do have immunity, so this works out perfectly. If anyone does you harm you the UN has the authority to have them killed. But I asked you because you are on the very short list of people I trust to go on a secret mission-”

Liam laughed. “Secret mission - so fucking dramatic, Louis. And besides, the UN won’t kill someone who hurts us - they will bring them to justice. Immunity means that WE won’t get in trouble which means - what the fuck do you want us to do for you?”

Louis waved his hand, dismissing Liam’s concerns. “You can get into any place in the world - including the Met Gala at the Moon Colony - that’s why I need you. I’m asking you. Please?”

Zayn looked at Liam, who looked back at him, one eyebrow raised. He knew they were both thinking the same thing - if Louis was saying please this was serious. Did Zayn really want to spend time with Liam though - meeting a kooky professor together? Stealing from the Moon Met? He already spent enough time with Liam during the three days of UN meetings every other month. Not to mention when they saw each other on the DJ circuit. After the incident in Guam Liam had been sidelined from field work for a year. He had been back on missions the last year, but rumor was he was forbidden from ever doing undercover work again.

Liam raised an eyebrow again. Zayn raised one back, and gave a slight nod. Damn him and Liam and their silent communication skills. 

“Yeah, I’m in,” Liam said.

Zayn nodded. “Me too. But if we get in trouble, I swear to god Louis - “

Louis laughed. “You have immunity, remember?”

“We still have to answer to the UN council - they’ll want to know what we were up to-”

“Then don’t get caught, yeah?” Louis smiled, like it was easy.

Zayn sighed - easy enough for Louis to say that - he wouldn’t be the one facing the consequences if Zayn and Liam did indeed get caught. 

Louis' phone flashed on his desk. “Ah, ok, Bernard is running late, he should be here in about an hour. Monsieurs - I have a meeting I must attend, but go ahead and head downstairs to the Falls Bar on the second floor - “

“Wait,” Liam sounded annoyed. “You assumed we would say yes then? Bernard was going to meet us?”

“Ah, correction - Bernard is going to meet you, he got held up in traffic.”

“Unbelievable,” Zayn muttered. 

Louis stood up. “Love you both!” He said brightly, coming around to give them another bone-crushing hug. “Thanks for doing this, yeah? The Ethical CEO Board will forever be in your debt!” He flashed a brilliant smile, then walked out the door. 

CHAPTER 5: FALLING WATERS

***Bonjour! I’m DJ David Guetta and it’s the top of the hour - let’s kick it off with one of my biggest songs to date - 'Titanium,' featuring Sia. You know you’re going to yell out the chorus, so go crazy!”***

Zayn turned to Liam, who looked at him consideringly. “Wanna get a drink while we wait for this Bernard bloke?”

Zayn shrugged. “Do we even have a choice?”

Liam smiled, small and genuine, eyes crinkling, and Zayn felt his irritation at Louis’s manipulations begin to lessen. “We never had a choice when it comes to Louis getting his way. C’mon.”

He placed his hand on Zayn’s lower back, leading him through the door of the office, through the lobby where Jones gave an absent wave, and didn't remove his hand until they were in the Aerolift, rushing down. Zayn tried not to react, but he could feel the tingle on his lower back where Liam’s hand had been, and he stared at the walls of the Aerolift until they reached the second floor, where the aptly named Falls Bar greeted them.

The bar was beautiful. Zayn heard Louis rave about it the last time they’d talked on the phone. It had recently opened, and was supposed to be part of the latest trend in London architecture and new spaces of “returning to nature,” which was ironic in a city as cosmopolitan and polluted as London. Baby steps, he supposed.

The entire bar was carved from the trunk of an ancient redwood; it stretched in a long oval, with the bartenders and drinks in the middle, and high-back swivel chairs all around. To get to the bar, one had to walk through a break in a real waterfall. The entire bar was surrounded on all sides by actual water falling - over rocks and fauna and into streams - there was a careful climb across a rock bridge in a break in the falling water. It was ridiculous and over the top, and Zayn couldn’t even imagine the cost it would take to maintain such a place. It was also rather humid, and he could already feel the back of his neck break out into a clammy sweat. He really should have worn a shirt or vest under his blazer.

“This is ridiculous.” He couldn’t stop looking around. It was noisy with the gentle roar from the falling water, and he worried he would have to get close - as in very up close and personal - to Liam to even be heard. That turned out to be a non-issue when Liam leaned forward, right into his space. Zayn breathed in his cologne, whose scent he could not place other than it smelled expensive and heady.

“What’s that?”

“I said, this is fucking ridiculous!” Zayn exclaimed. 

Liam pulled back, and laughed. “Yeah, it’s ridiculous. But it’s also beautiful.” 

He held eye-contact with Zayn for a long moment, and Zayn felt a flash of heat. Damn the humid trendy waterfall bar, he thought. While him and Liam spent UN meetings staring at each other from across the tiered room - or well, Zayn tried not to stare, but he could admit to himself there were a lot of quick glances - he couldn't help it - him and Liam were like magnets, constantly attracted and then repelled, caught in an endless cycle of glancing and looking away, and glancing again. But he rarely spent time in close physical proximity to Liam, and he was finding it hard to keep his composure while surrounded by the fresh scent of the fauna and waterfall, fancy cologne, and the smell of Liam himself. The scent was strong and clean and tantalizing and caused Zayn to subconsciously lean closer, until he realized what he was doing, and he tried to subtly lean back.

“I really need a drink after that talk with Louis,” Liam headed towards the bar and Zayn followed. 

The bartender, a tall, attractive man with piercing hazel eyes gave them an assessing look.

“First time here?” He directed his question at Zayn. 

“Uh yeah, what do you recommend?”

“What do you like?” the bartender put down the glass he was cleaning and leaned over the wooden bar. Zayn noticed his biceps, accented by a tight black shirt with short cut sleeves “Or do you want to mix it up, try something new maybe?” The bartender leaned even closer. His jaw was very square.

“Erm-” Zayn paused, unsure. 

“His favorite drink is a Rocket Fuel, straight up,” Liam said, voice flat. 

Zayn glared at Liam. He spent a lot of time glaring at Liam. “I want to try something new. Surprise me.” Zayn gave his best sultry look to the bartender, slowly blinking his lashes and smirking.

The bartender grinned back, his eyes drifted down to Zayn’s bare chest, then he turned away to make the drink. 

“Why are you flirting with him?” Liam said, voice low. 

“Why do you care?” Zayn tossed his head, pushing a lock of errant hair behind his ear, and gave Liam his best haughty face, which he knew from experience could be pretty fucking haughty. 

“I don’t,” Liam said quickly. “Thought maybe your boyfriend would care.”

Zayn was quiet for a long moment. “We broke up. Last month. He said - he said he could tell my heart wasn’t in it.” The moment the words left his mouth, he winced. Why was he opening up to Liam. He looked up, expecting Liam to open his mouth and let loose with a snarky comment, but he looked sympathetic, brown eyes soft. 

“Sorry Zayn, I didn’t know.”

Zayn shrugged. It was what it was - he had liked Avi, but there was no real love lost. “Don’t matter. He was right, I don’t even think about him.”

The bartender returned then, holding a tall glass with smokey purple liquid. 

“This is a Trainwreck, let me know if you like it.” He threw Zayn a playful wink, then turned to Liam. “And for you?”

“Jalisco, on the rocks.”

Zayn giggled, Liam turned to him. 

“What.”

“You really don’t like the bartender, do you?”

Liam shrugged, playing with the cufflinks on his suit. “He’s not professional.” 

Zayn smiled. Then he thought about Liam’s girlfriend and stopped smiling. 

“How’s Francine?”

Liam stopped fiddling with his cufflink and looked up. “Um. We actually broke up last month, too.” 

Zayn took a long sip of his drink while his mind raced. The last time he and Liam had both been single at the same time was back in their band days. He didn’t know why it mattered. He took another sip, then felt a sharp pain in his forehead. Fucking brainfreeze. The bartender was right though, the drink was good, albeit very.. purpley tasting. 

“Sorry to hear. You were together a while?” Zayn took another sip of his drink, but carefully watched the play of expressions across Liam’s face over his glass. He was so expressive, his eyes, eyebrows, and his mouth - Zayn didn’t always know what Liam was thinking, but his face gave away a lot. Zayn knew his own face, if he wasn’t focused, could also give away a lot - Liam often complained about Zayn’s anxious eyes, but Zayn was careful to school his face into a blank expression when he didn’t want to give away his thoughts. 

The bartender came back and placed Liam’s drink in front of him. He turned to Zayn, with a smile. “So, what do you think?” 

All the desire to flirt with the bartender suddenly left him. “It’s good, thanks,” Zayn said, and then turned away before he could see the bartender’s smile fall. 

“We were together a while, but the last several months - I guess you could say the same thing. My heart wasn’t in it. Hasn’t been for quite some time, to be honest.” 

Liam stirred his drink, and took a long sip, and Zayn shivered watching him, knowing how strong Jalisco was, how much it burned going down. He took another sip of his drink, enjoying the sweet purple liquid like nectar, thick and heavy on his tongue. He thought of the last time he’d seen Liam and Francine together - Liam and himself were in Ibiza together several months ago, for a huge benefit concert to help raise money for the victims of the Mediterranean Mini Typhoon.

It was Liam’s turn to spin, and Zayn sat in the VIP section with the other DJs - he wasn’t scheduled to spin for a couple hours, so he tried to relax and enjoy Liam’s set - he didn’t usually get to watch the other man perform, as he was usually busy performing himself. 

Liam was a natural on stage - jumping up and down, whipping the crowd into a frenzy. His white vest was cut low, and Zayn could see his tan, sweaty skin from the VIP booth; it was really, really sexy. And then Francine came out from where she had been watching from the other side of the stage, and Liam had given her a kiss, hand gripped tight in her long red hair, right in front of the crowd and everyone, in the midst of pyrotechnics and confetti and the noise and the beat, the deep bass that Zayn’s heart was pounding in time to. Then he looked away, and left the VIP section to get ready for his own set.

Zayn was brought back to the present by Liam’s amused voice.

“Do you want another one?” Liam gestured to his now empty glass where he was trying to suck up the last of the sweet purple liquid. 

“Uh, I guess one more. If this Bernard guy ever shows up.”

An hour and three more purple drinks later, Zayn was feeling woozy and slightly ill. All the damn sugar in those drinks was a mistake, and he probably needed to eat lunch. And then take a long nap. Liam had partaken in several more Jalisco’s, and the two of them were laughing about stupid antics during their All Direction days. 

“But do you remember,” Liam wheezed, “we were in Japan and Niall dropped his robot and almost started crying he was so pissed. You’d have thought he dropped a child.”

Zayn remembered the moment. “But then you let him borrow your robot so he wouldn’t be upset. Why Leeyum?” Zayn needed to get his point across. He grabbed Liam’s arm, and gently shook it. “Why’re you so nice? Makes it hard.”

Liam stopped laughing. “Makes what hard?” He leaned in close, and Zayn could smell the strong, spicy Jalisco on his breath. 

“My drink is sweet and yours is spicy. But you’re sweet, and I’m spicy. All backwards.” Zayn started laughing. 

Liam leaned in closer, giggling. “You’re not making any sense. What makes it hard?”

Zayn closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. What had they been talking about? Oh, Liam being nice. “Makes it hard when you’re so nice. Makes it hard to hate you.”

Liam frowned and leaned back. “Why do you hate me?”

Zayn frowned, seeing Liam frown. He reached forward, and gently poked Liam’s soft cheek, then the corners of his mouth, trying to force his lips up into a smile. “You should smile. I don’t hate you. I WANT to hate you,” Zayn explained, still trying to push up Liam’s lips. He needed to see that cheek dimple, the one that came out when Liam smiled his big, genuine grin, with his pink, pink lips. 

“Zayn.” Liam put down his drink and grabbed each of Zayn’s wrists, hampering his efforts to force Liam’s lips into a smile. “Why do you WANT to hate me? Remember when - remember? We were such good friends?” 

Liam’s eyes got sad and wistful, and Zayn felt his chest clench. “You were my best friend. Why aren’t we best friends anymore?” 

“Excusez-moi, etes-vous Messieurs Payne et Malik ?” 

Zayn turned to the voice as Liam’s hands still gripped his wrists, large fingers securely wrapped around his bones. Delicate bones, his ex-boyfriend had always said. Avi always joked about Zayn’s “hollow bird bones” and Zayn hated it, didn’t find it the least bit funny. He may be naturally svelte but he was strong, and had put in countless hours at the gym to build lean muscle, it wasn’t easy for him to gain weight or muscle mass- he blinked. The man was still there.

He looked a couple years older than himself and Liam; he had square framed glasses and artfully tousled brown hair, and a very well kept, short beard. 

“Uh, yeah?” Liam sounded as annoyed as Zayn felt. 

They were having their first real conversation in years, and Zayn had been about to tell Liam that they SHOULD be best friends again, there was never any real reason why they had drifted apart after the dissolution of the band and the awkwardness and tension surrounding his choice to accept entry into the DJ program, and here was this stranger interrupting their intimacy. 

Zayn realized they were still surrounded by water - he had been so caught up and consumed in LIAM that he had forgotten they were surrounded by waterfalls. His blazer felt damp and stuck to his skin; he could feel his hair falling out of its careful side swept style, and Liam’s hair looked even curlier than when they had sat down. Zayn hated frizz. His hair better not be frizzing. He was buzzed and sweaty and irritated and the last thing he wanted to do was make small talk with a stranger.

“Bounjour, I’m Professor Bernard, Louis told me to meet you here?”

“You’re the professor?” 

Zayn could hear the disbelief in Liam’s voice, and he didn’t blame him; he had pictured an elderly man with the consummate “kooky professor” look, he hadn’t anticipated someone as young and handsome as the man before him. Liam let go of Zayn’s wrists, and Zayn tried to casually pull his blazer away from his body to get some air circulating against his overheated chest. 

“Uh nice to meet you,” He held out a hand to shake the professor’s hand. “Do you want a drink, or-”

“Let’s go somewhere more private, yeah?” Professor Bernard looked around at the bar with his nose wrinkled. 

Zayn shrugged. “Alright, let’s pay up.” He and Liam settled their bills, and Zayn made sure to leave a good tip, but no PDS handle, for the handsome bartender. 

They walked over the rock bridge through the break in the falling water to exit the room. Liam slipped a bit, and Professor Bernard reached out and grabbed him around the waist to steady him. 

Zayn narrowed his eyes and stepped closer, grabbing Liam by the elbow. “I gotcha.”

“Thanks Zaynie,” Liam mumbled, and Zayn gripped his elbow tighter. Every time Liam called him by his old nickname from the band years, his chest ached. 

They followed Professor Bernard outside the building, pausing to put on their face masks before walking into the smog, and then down the street. It was a typical busy morning in the city - the smog hung low and dense, and fans from the nearby building attempted to blow the worst of it away from the sidewalks. Zayn couldn’t imagine what it had been like in the bustling city when cars were still allowed to spew their carbon dioxide all over the road - cars had been outlawed in his great - grandparents generation in the entire UK. Now the streets hummed with the above ground rail cars, powered by solar and wind energy.

The only country in the world that still allowed individual ownership of cars was America. But they were also the country that still allowed legal possession of firearms as well, Zayn thought, shaking his head in disgust about how behind the times that country was. Being American had its pitfalls, but being British wasn’t a walk in the park either - no matter how much the world had united in the last 500 years and nationalism had declined, he knew that some countries - England in particular - still clung to outdated notions of superiority, no matter how much damage had been done due to colonialism from his very country in the distant past. 

Zayn had no idea where the professor was leading them, and hoped Louis trusting the guy would be enough. Even though he and Liam had diplomatic immunity, the fact that no one was supposed to KNOW they had it, outside of the UN, made it a bit complicated. Louis wasn’t the only one that traveled with private security, but Zayn tended to only use private security for when he was performing, meeting fans, or going to attend an international conference or summit meeting. 

Liam turned to him, raising an eyebrow, the rest of his face below his eyes hidden by the mandatory mask. Zayn nodded back, as if to say, I go where you go. Although where this adventure might lead, he had no idea, he was only grateful to have Liam by his side.

CHAPTER 6: DR. BERNARD WILL SEE YOU NOW

***Bonjour! I’m DJ Tiesto - are you ready to jam? Join me, KSHMR and Vassy as we take you for a ride with our hit track 'Secrets'***

The professor led them down the streets of London, twisting and turning, and finally went down a narrow alleyway, then down a flight of stairs. 

(Zayn, and it looked like Liam too, struggled with the stairs, as day drinking - morning drinking really, didn’t do either of them any favors in the coordination department, and the stairs were incredibly narrow - if Zayn held on to the back of Liam’s shoulder for dear life, that was between him and the stairs. And Liam’s strong, muscular shoulder - Zayn tried to remember the last time he had held on to Liam like this - he tried not to flex his fingers too much, but he couldn’t help it - feeling the firm play of muscle under his hand - Liam turned and gave him a crooked smile as they reached the bottom of the stairs, and Zayn was taken back, back into the past - of late night concerts and after show parties and hotel rooms and tour buses, and Liam smiling that same, brilliant smile, lips red under the lights on stage, lips red in the lights of the tour bus as they stopped in the middle of nowhere America to fuel up, and lips red as they laughed and smiled at Zayn from across the room of a hotel, pushing back long curtains to stare out into the night of a different, nameless, faceless city. The other boys were there too, always in the peripheral of Zayn’s memories, but it was Liam’s smile that took center stage in his memories).

“Careful there,” Liam grinned as Zayn stumbled on the last step into a dodgy, ancient brick building. Zayn still held Liam’s elbow, and didn’t let go, even though it made walking side by side in the narrow space awkward; they both bumped into each other several times, but Zayn refused to let go.

Bernard led them through a narrow hallway, taking them into the bowels of the basement of the building. Zayn could smell mildew, and he felt a dampness in the air, similar to the Falls Bar, but this time there was no beautiful falling water surrounding them, but dark, dank walls and the occasional lightbulb. Zayn thought lightbulbs had been outlawed in London, but then he wondered who else came down here to even notice. The space reminded him of the awful video of Liam’s ransom, and the dismal underground room he had been held in - looking at Liam, he didn’t appear in the least triggered, he seemed relaxed, although that might be the Jalisco, Zayn thought. 

Finally, Bernard led them into a large room that had an overhead light source. 

In the middle of the room was a table with a pile of blueprints on them. Actual, paper blueprints, not prints on a DigiScreen. Zayn had seen more paper in one day than in his entire lifetime, outside of trips to museums or archives. 

“Alright, I’m not going to waste any time here. The Met Gala is in one week, yeah? Are you prepared to leave the party and break into the Music Exhibit?”

“Uh, I guess?” Liam sounded just as unsure as Zayn felt. 

Bernard rolled his eyes, and adjusted his glasses. “Ok, well pay attention, because you can’t take copies of these.”

“How’d you get paper copies of these?” Zayn wondered, running his finger along the edge of the paper. “Ouch, fuck” He pulled back quickly, his finger had a small cut, but it stung like hell for how tiny it was. 

“Paper cuts,” Bernard said sagely. “The edges can be really sharp.”

“I gotcha Zaynie.” 

The walk through the city had seemed to not sober up Liam in the slightest, as he reached forward, pulled his mask down and grabbed Zayn’s wrist, and then, to Zayn’s shock, put his finger with the cut and the drip of bright red blood in his mouth, and gently sucked. He tried to keep his eyes from rolling back in his head at the feeling of Liam's warm, wet mouth and soft tongue against the pad of his finger.

“Eherm.” Zayn tried to play it cool.

Bernard was looking at them both like he would rather be anywhere else, and Zayn could imagine how it looked from his point of view - two drunk, former boy banders playing at sucking fingers - when in reality him and Liam had both worked tirelessly to build their reputations as serious international diplomats - not that Bernard, or anyone else besides the UN knew that - but Zayn knew, that even if he somehow won the One World Peace Prize, his obit would open with his time in All Direction - thus was the price of fame; especially fame at a young age.

Liam gave a final suck, and then popped off his finger, with a frankly embarrassing noise.

“Are we ready to pay attention?” Bernard’s tone was arch.

“Uh, yeah, yeah.” Zayn avoided Liam’s searing gaze. 

“I can’t reveal my sources, sorry boys - but needless to say these blueprints are quite valuable. Here is where the red carpet for the Met Gala will run, and here’s the Main Hall and the two galleries where the event will take place.” Bernard ran his finger along the long stretch outside the front of the Met Moon building, showing where the red carpet would be, and then outlining the hall and adjacent gallery space.

Zayn stepped forward to study the blueprints, Liam pressed against his side. 

“And here -” Bernard gestured to a wing on the third floor, in the far back corner of the museum, “is the Ancient Music exhibit.” 

“Uh, so how are we supposed to get all the way up there?” Liam voiced Zayn’s thoughts, and he tried to ignore the throb of his finger, still damp from Liam’s warm mouth. 

“So, in the back of the museum is a service AeroLift - it’s large, and closed to the public - it’s for moving up paintings, sculptures, and whatever is needed to set up the exhibit. So you two will be in the Main Hall, and the DJ booth is set up, on a small stage against the back wall. So you two will go up on stage and play a song or two -”

“Uh, mate, neither of us are scheduled to perform, we’re just attending.” Zayn didn’t know if it was the passage of time causing his sobriety to increase, or if it was the gravity of this mission - were he and Liam actually crazy enough to do Tommo’s bidding on this madcap quest?

“Yes, yes,” Bernard said impatiently. He pushed his glasses up against his nose - Zayn wondered why he even needed glasses as they were used solely for aesthetic purposes. No one even wore glasses unless it was to cultivate a certain look - the pretension of it all. “The DJ, Snakeyez, is a friend of your former bandmate Niall Horan, correct?”

“Uh, yes?” Zayn said, but Niall was friends with everyone, really. Snakeyez was new to the scene, and was a regular DJ, so Zayn had yet to meet him - although he’d watched videos and Snakeyez beats were sick. 

“So, Niall will be there - have him make introductions, and then ask to play a song or two?”

“Bit presumptuous,” Liam grumbled. “Not exactly how it’s done.”

“I don’t care how it’s done - figure something out. You’re both DJs yourself and you were in that band, for Christ’s sake, he’s not going to refuse you. Anyway.” Bernard leaned forward and pointed to the back of the hall. “After you finish at the booth, instead of going down the side stairs back to the main event, take the back stairs - if anybody asks just say you’re going to freshen up in the bathroom. Then, go through these doors - they’ll be locked, you’ll need to use these.” And here he pushed forward two small identification badges. “Don’t ask me how long it took me to get these - “

Liam giggled. “How long did it take you to get those?”

Zayn had forgotten how much of a little shit Liam could be when he wanted - Louis’s influence for sure.

“If you get caught, hide those immediately and tell people you were once again looking for the bathroom. Act drunk. I don't care. But do not get caught using those - diplomatic immunity or not there will be a lot of questions. Got it?” The professor looked deadly serious.

“Got it,” Zayn and Liam said in unison.

“Ok - after you get through the doors, go down this hallway, it cuts through the middle of all the galleries. Walk all the way until you hit a dead end. There will be a door marked staff. Use the badges again. Once you are through that door, you will be in a large storage room that holds all the art not currently on exhibit. At the back of that room is the service AeroLift. Are you both still with me?”

“Yeah, mate, we’re both paying attention, right Zayn?” Liam gently hip checked Zayn, and he looked down at his finger again, trying not to remember what Liam’s mouth felt like. 

“Yeah, yah.” Zayn looked at Bernard and lifted an eyebrow.

“Alright. Use your badges, and take the service AeroLift up to the third floor. Then go down the back hallway until you hit the end. Then you have one more door, and that opens up into the Ancient Music exhibit. The exhibit is almost all set up, but it’s not opening up to the public for another month, they are finalizing everything. I don’t know where the ‘Eight Days a Week’ disc is, so you will have to search the exhibit, but be quick about it, yeah?” 

Zayn nodded, and so did Liam.

“Your job is to then sneak out the disc - it’s not small, so you might have to hide it under your clothes, can you do that?”

“How big is it?” Liam asked.

“About this big,” Bernard held his hands out and made a vague circle shape, approximately the same size as a small pizza. “But it’s thin.”

The outfits for the Met were highly guarded secrets - until the big red carpet reveal. Zayn was super excited for his costume this year and loathe to reveal any details that would give away the concept - he and Harry had worked several months, and had to get several specialists to help him on the more technical, intricate parts of the costume. He thought he could maybe get away with hiding the disk.

“Uh, I should be able to sneak it out in my costume?” 

“Good, because I won't be able to hide a stick of gum in mine, mate.” Liam gave an apologetic shrug.

“A stick of gum? What are you wearing?” Zayn didn’t expect an answer, but his curiosity was piqued. Was Liam’s outfit so skin tight or revealing that something so small would be impossible to camouflage? 

Liam smirked. “You’ll see.” 

Zayn rolled his eyes, but that was the answer he was expecting. 

Bernard cleared his throat. “As long as one of you can hide it, that’s fine. So you will need to sneak back down, and then leave the Gala, as you shouldn’t be carrying the disc around any longer than necessary. When you get back to Earth, the next step will be to go to Paris, where you will then go under the city, into the catacombs. You will get further instructions when you return on how to navigate them. Any questions?”

“Why do paper cuts hurt so much when they’re so small?” Zayn wondered.

“Are your glasses real glasses?” Liam asked

Zayn burst into a fit of giggles, he couldn't help it, all the smokey purple drinks and pent up tension from spending the day so close to Liam caused him to cross over into slap-happy territory, which he didn’t visit often, but when he did, he had a hard time being serious. 

“Seriously? You both work for the UN?” Bernard said in exasperation, which only caused Zayn to giggle harder, and Liam joined in. “Great. The fate of One World is in your clearly incapable hands.” 

The next ten minutes were less silly - Bernard made both of them repeat the directions until they had them memorized - they both tried to be as sober and serious as possible, which meant avoiding eye-contact, because everytime they did the giggles would start again. Finally, when they could recite it back individually without breaking into laughter, he was satisfied, and rolled up the blueprints, and then pulled out a lighter and waved it against the bottom of the papers and quickly set them down on the metal table.

Zayn was fascinated with how fast paper burned - several seconds later there was nothing but charred black bits on the table - which Bernard swept up with his hand, and put into a small pouch. “Can't take any chances, will throw these out somewhere else.”

Liam whistled. “Serious stuff mate.”

“It is.” 

Back outside, face masks on, Bernard clapped them both on the shoulder, then nodded, and walked up the stairs and disappeared into the smoggy London streets. Zayn walked up the stairs, deep in thought, followed by Liam. He started walking down the street, somewhat aimlessly, until he saw a small coffee shop. He tapped Liam’s arm, and gestured, and he nodded, so they walked inside. 

“I haven’t day-drank in so long. I’m out of practice,” Liam said, rubbing his forehead. 

“Getting old there?” Zayn smirked.

“Ha - you’ll always be older than me, nice try.”

“But I’ll age better.”

“You will. You'll age better than any of us.” 

Zayn smirked. “It’s my flawless genes.”

Liam smiled. “True, but it’s also just you.”

Zayn didn’t respond, he didn’t know what to say. He went and stood in line and pretended to be preoccupied with the menu.

“Can’t wait to see your outfit at the Gala.” Liam’s voice was in his ear, Zayn could feel his chin digging into his shoulder. “You’ll look amazing, you always do.”

“Leeyum,” Zayn whined, then hated himself for whining. “If you can’t even hide a stick of gum, I’m sure your outfit will be the talk of the night.”

“Hmm, maybe. I hope you’ll like it.”

Zayn ignored his quickly beating heart and shrugged off Liam’s chin so he could order. The current of electricity, the sparks the two of them were setting off - he didn’t know how to react. Normally, he would bat his eyelashes and smoulder and easily conquer his target and then move on. But this was Liam, and Zayn had never been able to move on from him, since the first moment they met at the singing competition, all those years ago.

They sat down when their drinks were ready, and they grabbed pre-made sandwiches and crisps. Zayn tore into his, he was hungrier than anticipated now that his middle of the day buzz was wearing off. Liam also ate quickly, and there was silence for several minutes, except for the background clatter of dishes and hisses of milk steaming and the burr grinder that made up the soundtrack to every coffee shop. 

Zayn took a swig of coffee and looked at Liam, thoughtful. The day had been strange enough, and Liam and him were about to have what seemed a breakthrough. Even with his late afternoon sobriety creeping in he was feeling brave. 

“What changed?”

“Huh?” Liam was still chewing, absorbed in his food.

Zayn put down his coffee and cleared his throat. “We were friends Liam. Best friends. And when the band ended we were still friends. But the minute you found out I was in the DJ program - it was like you just - it was like you were… mad? I don’t know. And it hasn’t been the same since. And then the incident in Guam - you were a huge dick. Like, a first class asshole when you saw me on the rescue mission. I don’t. To this day I don’t - I don’t know if I can forgive you. The things you said about me...”

Liam’s eyes were wide and his sandwich dangled in his hand, forgotten. He put it down, and reached out to take Zayn’s hand, which had been idly resting on the table. He squeezed it, and Zayn looked at their hands - equally tattooed, Liam’s palm a bit bigger than his, fingers thicker. He could feel the callouses on Liam’s palm - probably from all the weight lifting and rope climbing he partook in. Zayn had seen the videos posted by Liam's gym, not that he would admit it. 

“Listen, Zayn, I am sorry - truly sorry - for the things I said in Guam. I wasn’t in a good place, obviously, but I was so shocked to see you and - the reason I wasn’t excited you joined the program wasn’t because I don’t think you can’t handle yourself. I know you can!”

“Really? You had me fooled.” Zayn tried to withdraw his hand, but Liam held his fingers tighter. 

“You are one of the smartest people I know - I know you are more than capable. I am- I was - I was a selfish fuck about it, ok?”

Liam let go of his hand and sat back in his seat, avoiding eye contact.

This time it was Zayn who reached forward and grabbed Liam’s hand. “Selfish how?”

Liam made eye-contact. “Because you were - are - such a good friend and I care about you I was selfish in not wanting you to join because I didn’t want you to get hurt. I know how dangerous this job can be - even if your field work is more, like, high society intrigue, it can still be dangerous and if you ever got hurt -” Liam didn’t finish his thought. 

“Yeah, and you can get hurt too. But I never discouraged you Liam - I only supported you.” 

“I told you. Selfish. I was being really fucking selfish. And I do see and appreciate how well you can handle yourself Zayn. Like I said, you’re one of the smartest people I know.”

“Ok.” Zayn was quiet for a moment, but he still held on to Liam’s hand. “But in order for this plan to work, we have to trust each other yeah?”

Liam nodded, and Zayn tried to stay annoyed, but Liam’s sad eyes had conquered stronger mortals than himself. 

“I mean it Liam - we have to trust each other. Got it?”

LIam squeezed Zayn’s hand. “Got it. I promise.”

It felt like a declaration and Zayn felt like everything was spinning out of control, but there was nowhere to go but forward. He looked at Liam, his colleague, his former band mate, his past (maybe current?) friend, and he wanted to put a word or a label, to organize Liam in the neat folders he kept everybody in his life - family, friends, co-workers, partners, one night stands, enemies, the list went on. But Liam didn’t fit into any of those - he needed his own folder, simply labeled Liam. 

Zayn looked into warm brown eyes, and he faintly heard an All Direction song play over the coffee shops sound system. No he was wrong - he needed a whole filing cabinet to fit his relationship with Liam, a folder was not enough to contain their long history together.

CHAPTER 7: ZAYN REMEMBERS

***Bonjour! It’s DJ Zayn, manning the midnight hour. And what better way to celebrate midnight with one of my biggest solo tracks - big shoutout to PartyNextDoor for the assist - it’s ‘Still Got Time'***

Zayn remembered the first time he laid eyes on Liam Payne. 

He was fifteen and watching X-Factor 8000, laid out in bed watching on his PDS, and harshly judging the audition songs and the auditioners themselves. Zayn’s friends, families, and the vocal instructor he took singing lessons from, kept telling him he needed to audition, that he had the voice and the talent. Zayn wasn’t so sure; his nerves often got the best of him. Next year, he promised himself. He would audition next year.

A teenager with an embarrassing, dated shag haircut walked on stage and gave a shy smile, and Zayn sat up in bed, paying closer attention. 

“Hi, I’m Liam, I’m fourteen, and I’m from Wolvehampton.” His voice was surprisingly deep.

The boy was even younger than himself, and while a bit stiff, looked so adorably determined that Zayn found himself instantly charmed. 

“And what will you be singing today for us, Liam?” The stern looking judge asked.

“I’ll be singing ‘Fly Me to the Moon,’ by Frank Sinatra.”

The current revivalist trend of finding the oldest, most obscure songs possible to cover made Zayn roll his eyes, but when Liam began to sing, he paid rapt attention. 

And when Liam made it to the judges house but was sent home, with tears in his eyes, lips pouting, but with firm words that he would return, Zayn felt a thrill - he was now certain he would audition. The next year they raised the age limit. The year after that he overslept, but was woken up by his mother at an ungodly early hour - she refused to let him roll over and fall back asleep. 

He went to the auditions.

Zayn remembered the first time he met Liam in person.

He was seventeen and sitting in McDonalds, taking a break from a round of X-Factor 8000 auditions. 

Auditions in front of the producers took longer than anticipated, and he was starved; he was so busy stuffing his face with nuggets and trying not to think about how the audition had gone (good, but was it good enough to make it to bootcamp?) that he didn’t notice two boys his age standing right next to his table.

“Hi, I’m Liam!” A familiar looking boy gave a hesitant smile. “And then is Aiden.” He nodded at the boy next to him. “You’re Zayn, right?”

Mid-chew Zayn was about to ask how Liam knew his name, when he looked down and realized he was still wearing the name tag he had been given taped to his shirt. Then he remembered watching Liam several years ago. Two years later, he looked older, and was even cuter in person than he had been on screen. 

He swallowed hastily and tried not to cough. “Uh, yeah, ‘m Zayn. Nice to meet you both.”

Liam watched him, then started to sit down. “Mind if we join you?”

Zayn shrugged. “Be my guest.”

The boys chatted about the auditions, the judges, and their competition in between bites of food. Liam seemed so fiercely determined to not only ace the auditions but go all the way on the show, that Zayn was a bit in awe. He had mates that had a vague idea of what they wanted to do with their lives post education, some more than others, but he hadn’t met anyone like Liam. Zayn found himself believing that Liam would make it, despite the astronomical odds stacked against him. 

After they were done eating, Liam got up to use the bathroom. Aidan seemed like a nice enough lad, and Zayn felt comfortable in the silence. Until Aidan asked him a question.

“So, ya seeing anybody right now?”

“Uh,” Zayn was taken aback by the personal question. “No, uh, not at the moment. Not really looking to for something long distance right now-”

“Oh, no,” Aidan waved his hand. “Not asking for myself, although I’m sure you’re lovely enough.”

“Then why-” Zayn stopped talking when Liam came back to the table 

“Hey, Zayn, what’s your PDS handle? We’ve got to stay in touch till the next round of auditions, yeah?”

Zayn remembered the first time Liam hugged him. 

They were at the judges house, joined together with three other boys their age - Niall, Louis, and Harry, thrown into a band without choice, their fates now intertwined, arms wrapped around each other as they stood in front of the judges that held the future of the little group in their hands. 

“Yes. You can move on to the live show.”

For a single second, the earth stopped moving. 

Zayn’s heart paused between thumping beats. The birds on Barbados held their chirping, lending heavy silence to this turning point in his life. Then Liam’s head nestled between his shoulder and neck, and Harry grabbed him around the waist, and he was smelling Liam’s hair and there was joyful shouting. The world started moving again, and Zayn’s heart beat again, thumping in time to everyone jumping up and down.

Zayn remembered the first time he and Liam shared a room. 

Liam had moved into one of the empty rooms vacated by contestants sent home in the X-Factor 8000 house. Zayn stood in the doorway, watching Liam take out clothes and put them in a drawer, and arranging various items, including some photos of his family, on top of the bureau. 

“Umm, Liam,” Zayn was hesitant, not sure how the other boy would react. “Do you mind, like, if I join you in this room? The other lads are great and all, but they get so loud and it's so messy and you’re quieter and I like to sleep and - “

LIam giggled, cutting off Zayn’s nervous babble. “Of course,” he waved at the empty beds. “Plenty of room in here, we’ll have fun being roommates, yeah?”

Zayn felt tension release from his jaw - he hadn’t realized how worried he’d been that Liam would say no. “Thanks bro! I’ll go grab my stuff right now.” He turned and went back to his old room, unable to keep a goofy smile off his face. 

Zayn remembered the first time he ran after Liam. Long, long before he ran to rescue Liam from Guam, he ran after Liam, torch in hand, across the dark lonely fields of the English countryside. 

The five boys were a band now, it was official, and they were staying at Harry’s stepdad’s bungalow for some band bonding time - the goal was to practice harmonies and get to know each other. Liam tried to run voice drills but Louis wasn’t having it, and Zayn didn’t know whose side to take, but eventually they all gave up and went outside to blow off steam on the lawn behind the bungalow. 

Zayn was peering into the dark, off to the side, taking a moment to play with the lighter he always carried, flicking it on and off again. It belonged to his grandfather and was one of his favorite possessions. The other boys were kicking a ball back and forth, yelling everytime they missed, which was often considering they couldn’t see very well. 

Suddenly Liam was right in front of him, smiling and panting. “Wanna join, Zayn? S’ fun!”

Zayn shook his head. “Nah, thanks. Not really one for being sporty, like. I’m not that good.”

“Ah, now, sure you are. And if you’re not good at football, bet’s they’re loads of things you are good at. What do you like to do? Besides, sing and stuff, I mean.”

Zayn hesitated, but peering at Liam, whose face was cast in shadows by the flickering light in Zayn’s hand, but somehow still looked warm and open like an excited puppy, he felt like he could trust him not to make fun. “I like to draw - arts stuff, I like to tag, but that’s been outlawed, but I still spray paint on sheets at home. My parents let me do it outside. Uh, I like… comics. Superheros.”

“Yeah?” Liam’s eyes got wide. “Me too - my favorite comic site is AllComics - they have everything.”

“My parents got me a subscription to them for one of my birthdays -” Zayn began - but was cut off as a mournful call, almost a howl, echoed across the fields behind the bungalow yard. 

“What the hell-” Liam said, but the other boys had stopped playing and ran over, huddling in a close circle around Zayn’s small light source.

“Is that a person out there?” Zayn asked. He tried to look out 

“No way!” Louis said, his voice suddenly loud in the quiet darkness. “Sounds like a cow or summat to me.”

“A cow?” Harry shook his head, long curls casting shadows across his face. “That is NOT a cow.”

“Could be some poor bloke lost out there, yeah?” Niall piped up.

Liam turned away from the huddle of the boys and the light source to look out towards the wooden fence that surrounded the yard. “Well whatever it is, or whoever, they might need our help.” 

He turned back to face the group, and Zayn saw on his face that same determined look he’d seen when he first saw Liam audition and get sent home on X-Factor 8000 - Liam WOULD be back, he would not give up and, now, he was going to run out into the dark to chase after a man in danger, or possibly a lost cow, and no one could sway him otherwise; and like a shot, he ran across the yard, long legs pumping, and Zayn remembered one of the other boys mentioning Liam had been a talented runner as a child - and was there anything he couldn’t do? He reached the fence, and hopped over it in a single bound. 

“Hello? Hello? Does anyone need any help? Liam called out. 

The darkness was pierced by another mournful sound, low and haunting.

Zayn shivered, and turned to Harry. “Do ya have any rags or cloth I can use?”

“Uh, yeah, I think so?” Harry ran over to a small table by the back door, and came loping back. “Here’s an old dish towel, we use it for wiping down the table. “ 

Zayn took it, and looked around the yard - in the corner was a small pile of uncleared out branches - he ran over and grabbed one, breaking off some of the extra twigs, and then he carefully wrapped the cloth around the top, tying the ends into a knot, then held out his trusted lighter, waiting for the flame to catch. When it did, he whooped.

“Like Indiana Jones!” he crowed, remembering the ancient movies he had watched in his Ancient Film class at school. He turned to the other boys and waved around his glowing stick in triumph, a beacon in the dark. “C’mon!” 

He raced across the yard, stopping at the fence; he couldn’t leap over it as Liam had, not with his one hand occupied with the impromptu torch, but he carefully climbed over, keeping the flame aloft. Once on the other side, facing the fields, he felt like he had stepped into an alternate world of adventure. 

Liam was running again, calling out, “Is anybody out there? Anybody?”

Zayn heard the pounding steps of the other boys behind him, and he couldn't help but gasp out a giggle as he ran, never letting Liam out of his sight. Here he was, Zayn Malik from Bradford, who hated the dark, and yet something had compelled him to find a light, to find a way, and to follow after Liam Payne from Wolverhampton, into the dark, into danger, and into an adventure. 

Zayn remembered the first time he suspected he might like Liam as more than a friend. 

He knew, deep down, that it had been this way for a while, the feelings he felt around his friend and bandmate. But this was the first time his conscious mind said, yes, this one. This one's for me.

The summer was long and the touring life was exhilarating but brutal. One World may physically be large, but, four years after making it to the live X-Factor 8000 show, Zayn learned all fancy hotels were so similar they blended together, the tracks of middle America were long and endless, and he had never thought he would enjoy fishing.

But here he was - on a boat in the middle of a great lake, with him and Liam and the water and the sun and a strong, pervasive fish smell coming from the large bucket. 

A couple days before, Zayn had started to lose his sanity and Liam noticed. 

Zayn was in a mood, sitting on a couch in a back room of a nameless arena, hair and make up and outfit done, waiting for vocal warm up. He stared at nothing, arms crossed, completely still on the outside. But on the inside, he was boiling. He felt trapped. He needed alone time. He missed his family and his friends from home, with a deep, deep ache. He loved the boys, he did, and he loved most of their band and touring crew, but sometimes it got to be too much. There was never enough privacy, for one, and Zayn was someone who desperately needed and treasured his own space and alone time to recharge. But whether in a train or a SolarPlane or even in a hotel room, there was always someone right next to him, or someone knocking on his door, someone rushing him to their next destination, their next interview, their next photoshoot, their next meet and greet. He wanted to flee - he felt like he was a flight risk, sometimes he even daydreamed about it - saying goodbye, and leaving. But he was living a dream life and he felt loyal to the band and he was very, very aware of public perception - so he took deep breaths and sat perfectly still and furiously daydreamed.

He felt the couch shift, and Liam sat down next to him, interrupting his thoughts, pushing right up against Zayn so their thighs were touching. His voice was pitched low. 

“You alright?”

Zayn opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He shrugged. 

“Hey, you can tell me, yeah?” Liam’s voice was even softer. He wrapped an arm around Zayn’s shoulders, and as always, the touch both grounded him while setting his nerves on edge.

“It’s nothing. But. I want to -” Zayn paused. He felt the tips of Liam’s fingers start rubbing the back of his neck, right below his hairline, the patterns random but soothing. “I need-” 

He couldn’t get the words out. 

“What do you need?” Liam said, right in his ear, fingers digging in harder, gripping the back of his neck.

Zayn realized he was half hard. Must be a physical reaction, he thought, startled. 

He let out a breath, feeling some of the boiling, hidden tension leave his body. “I need - to get out of here. To go somewhere.” Liam’s hand trailed down, digging into his shoulder. Zayn let out another breath. “Where no one can bother me. I feel… restless. Like, you know how you are before a show?”

Liam let out a chuckle. “Yeah, yeah. I bounce off the walls, and then there’s you. Always calm, you know how to bring me back down to earth.”

“Well, sometimes I’m not calm. Sometimes I just want to pick up and run and not look back. I just - it’s all on the inside, yeah?” Zayn sighed, leaning his head back as Liam continued to rub and squeeze his shoulders. He absently watched the other boys across the room, Harry was getting dressed, Niall’s hair was getting styled, and Louis was hovering behind Niall, voice loud as they argued football. He watched it all, comforted and yet trapped by the routine and normality of his boys and their wild, wild life.

He tried to focus on Liam’s touch, tried to pretend they were an island, the couch their own little oasis floating within the madness. Liam had reached up with his other hand, and now Zayn had two strong hands massaging his shoulders, and he still wanted to flee, but a part of him was tethered to the earth by Liam’s hands and touch and his warm breath in his ear. He realized he was going from half hard to fully hard, a bit painful in skinny black jeans, but his shirt was long and covered his bulge so he didn’t worry about it too much - besides he was becoming drugged on the waves of pleasure Liam’s hands left in their wake. 

“Hmm,” Liam made a non-committal hum, his fingers still flexing, hitting all the knots in Zayn’s tight shoulders. “Whatcha doing on our free day?”

“When’s our free day,” Zayn slurred. He felt so relaxed now, the boiling tension dissipated, his body melting into the couch and Liam’s magic hands. 

“Three days from now. We’ll be in Ohio.” Liam always knew their schedule. Zayn tended to wake up knowing that his schedule would be given to him anyway, but he tried to pay attention to when their rare free days would come up so he could plan ahead - this tour had been more of a blur than usual, however, 

“Uh, no plans. Sleeping. Maybe, like, shopping?” Zayn closed his eyes, blocking out the room, focusing on his muscles and tendons and breathing.

“Don’t make plans, yeah?”

“You gonna surprise me, Leeyum?” Zayn opened his eyes, turning his head. 

Liam looked thoughtful, but smiled when he saw Zayn was watching him. 

“Yeah, but you’ll like it, trust me.”

And Zayn did.

And so he found himself on the boat, and maybe it was beginners luck or maybe he did have the magic touch - “Fish whisperer,” Liam kept joking - but the fish kept coming to his line, each one bigger than the last, and there were no crowds or cameras or people screaming his name out here, it was dark blue water and light blue sky and him and Liam - everything was blue and warm and Zayn felt like he could breathe.

Liam kept trying to show Zayn the “correct” way to cast and reel in, and his hands were all over Zayn’s hands, and arms, and even his waist, and the band was always all over each other and up in each other’s space, and it was nothing new -

But Zayn’s reaction to it was. 

Once again, like Liam touching him on the couch in the green room, his body responded to Liam’s touch. The back of his neck tingled and everywhere his hands traced his body, they left burning trails on his skin - the burn was both hot and cold, causing goosebumps to race up his arms. When Liam patted his chest - a harmless, friendly good-job type pat, Zayn felt his nipples tighten up. He was half hard again, and he wondered why he was acting like a teenager in heat. His body was a live-wire, and the lightest touch from Liam threatened to set him off. 

“You seem tense again,’ Liam noted, standing right behind Zayn. 

Zayn leaned against the ship railing, trying to think about how cold the water was out in the middle of the lake, and how far to the bottom of its depths. He knew, deep in his bones, that should he end up overboard, Liam would move heaven and earth to pull him out of the water, but it was still better to look out into the distance, and admire how pretty the view was, instead of trying to look over the side of the boat into the murky depths. 

He turned, twisting his neck, to see Liam already looking at him - his face was golden in the bright light reflecting off the water - his eyes crinkled, his lips smiled, and Zayn knew, in that moment, without a doubt, he would run after Liam, chase after him until he reached the very edge of the earth, until he fell over that edge, until he floated in space, a torch burning bright in one hand, while his other hand reached out, reached out as far as he could, to grab a hold of Liam, always.

CHAPTER 8: THE MET GALA IS ON THE MOON

***Bonjour! It’s DJ R3HAb, and this music is on fire, literally - next up, one of my favorite collabs, with some cool cats, it’s me and Zayn and Jungleboi, and its ‘Flames’! ***

Zayn was nervous - excited, but anxious. His nerves were so bad that he stared at his hand as he held it in front of him - it was minutely shaking, his fingertips trembled. He made a fist, but that didn’t help. He took deep breaths, concentrating on his diaphragm and counting to five as he inhaled through his nose, held his breath for another five seconds, and then slowly, slowly, exhaled for ten seconds. 

He’d become used to red carpets over the years of being in the band and then subsequently becoming a DJ, but every once in a while the numbness he felt before big events transformed back into nerves. 

The hotel room he’d been getting ready in was across the street from the Moon Met, and all the guests attending the Gala were currently in different rooms in various states of dress and make up, surrounded by swirls of stylists and assistants. Zayn’s hair and makeup were done, he just needed to get dressed. Two stylists stood there, patiently waiting for Zayn to stand up out of his chair so they could put his outfit on. He looked out the window - his room faced the red carpet, and he could see the steady stream of guests arriving - he would be one of the last to arrive if he didn’t get a move on - although he was usually the last to arrive at anything, so nothing new there. 

He took one last breath, and stood up and nodded. 

“Je suis prêt.”

The assistants - nameless, faceless bodies wearing head to toe sleek black fitted clothing - carefully put him in the outfit that had been painstakingly tailored for his body - it was skin tight and all one piece, with various hidden zippers, but there were also hidden wires and a tiny, flat, but very powerful battery pack as well, so it took a while to for Zayn to squeeze into.

When he was all zipped in, one of the stylists fiddled with the battery pack, which was sewn into the inside of his left wrist, while the other stylist finished lacing up his heavy black boots. Then they both stood back, satisfied smiles eerily similar.

“The mirror,” one of them encouraged.

“Va voir,” the other stylist said impatiently. 

Zayn turned around and walked toward the floor to ceiling mirror that covered the door of the closet. His eyes widened, his reflection stared back at him - he loved his outfit.

It was an all black, skin tight jumpsuit, with neon lights in green, blue, pink, orange and yellow running the length of the suit - down his arms and legs, over his chest and back- the lights cast patterns on his face, and every time he moved the lights changed colors and the patterns changed forms- he was a one man laser show.

There was a knock at the hotel door - Zayn turned to the stylists, who shrugged - maybe the hairstylist was back to do a final touch up? He nodded, and one of the stylists went to go answer the door. 

Zayn turned back to the mirror moving his arms up and down, watching the lines of light race up and down his arms while the colors changed - it was hypnotizing. 

“Wow,” said a familiar voice behind him, and then Liam stepped into view in the mirror. “You look amazing Zayn.”

Zayn opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. His reflection showed his mouth gaping, and not in an attractive way, as the lights continued to stream and change colors, but he couldn’t help it - Liam’s costume was -

“Are you arse naked, mate?” Zayn managed to choke out, pretending to cough to cover up his shock. 

Liam’s reflection laughed. 

His costume was the opposite of Zayn’s look - whereas only Zayn’s hands and face were exposed, even though his costume was very form fitting, Liam’s everything was on display - his skin was golden and endless - the only part of him covered up was his groin - which was covered in leaves. On his feet were gladiator sandals. And that was all he wore. His sleeves of tattoos were on full display, as was his chest - and Zayn noted he had let his chest hair grow back, he didn’t know why he was so pleased by this fact - and his muscular legs were bare. 

There was so much skin. Zayn didn’t know where his eyes should go. And how many hours did Liam spend in the gym, exactly - Zayn both admired and mildly feared Liam’s dedication and devotion to his rippling body. And he had seen Liam shirtless back in their band days a thousand times over, and he remembered admiring his physique back then, but he had clearly upped his weight lifting routine since then. 

“Leaves?” Zayn asked. He was at a loss for words. He could only point out the obvious at this point. 

Liam chuckled. “Can you guess what I was going for?”

“Um. Erm. No?” Zayn’s mouth felt dry. He tried to swallow. 

“Well, the theme is ‘Fashion Through Space and Time’ yeah? So I went back to the very beginning of time.”

“The very beginning of time?” Zayn was dazed and a little lost. 

“It’s supposed to be inspired by Adam? You know, Adam and Eve?”

“Oh.” Zayn didn’t know what to say. The first thing that came out of his mouth was, “That’s very Judeo-Christian of you, I guess. Where’s your Eve?” 

He felt oddly disappointed in Liam for some reason.

Liam rolled his eyes. Zayn had yet to actually turn around, they were having this conversation while looking at each other in the full length mirror, but he could feel the heat of Liam’s mostly bare body as he stood right behind him. 

“I wasn’t finished - yes, it’s inspired by Adam, but it’s supposed to be an ironic take - it’s also inspired by Brittany Spears?”

Now Zayn really was lost. “Who’s that?”

Liam reached forward and gently touched one of the lights on Zayn’s arm. He didn’t answer Zayn’s question. “I remember, being on the tour bus, and watching Tron 3000. And you told me it was based on an early movie based on an even older movie.” Liam smiled. “You and your ancient films. The costumes were so amazing in that film- but you look - you look out of this world. Seriously - you’ll be one of the best dressed of the night for sure.”

Zayn smiled. “You remembered. We must have watched that movie - how many times?”

Liam smiled back, and ran his fingers gently back up Zayn’s arm, following the racing lines of light. “Too many times to count.”

Zayn tried not to shiver. He shrugged, and finally turned around, facing Liam.

“Who the fuck is this Brittany Spears?”

Liam smiled. “C’mon, I’ll show you.”

Before they left Zayn’s room, he was careful to snatch the two ID badges from his personal bag while the stylists were cooing over Liam’s outfit - he shoved them down into one of his heavy boots, pretended to fiddle with the laces, and then quickly straightened up. He was ready. 

A couple minutes later, they were in Liam’s hotel room, which was two floors above Zayn’s. Zayn tried not to yell, but he physically jumped backwards when he walked into the room.

In the middle of the room was a very large man, holding an even larger - 

“Snake!” Zayn yelled, jumping back and bumping into Liam, who steadied him with a hand on his hip.

“It’s part of my outfit,” Liam sounded nervous. 

“Your outfit? What the fuck -”

Liam went over to the hotel desk, ignoring the man with the snake, and held up a PDS, pulling up a photo to show Zayn. A blonde woman in a tattered green two piece outfit posed on stage; she wore a headset with a microphone, but, more noticeably, a large snake - it was a similar size and pattern and color to the snake in the hotel room, and it was wrapped around her shoulders. 

“You’re gonna wear that thing -” 

Liam nodded, face looking a little pale. He put down the PDS.

“Brittany was a singer, from like, a 1000 years ago or something - but this outfit and performance were iconic, in her time, I guess. When I was talking to Harry about what I wanted to do, and mentioned I wanted to go way back - like, to the beginning of time and before fashion was even a thing - he remembered seeing this photo when he was studying the history of music fashion at uni - so we decided to roll the two ideas into one.“

“I thought you were afraid of snakes?” Zayn said, no judgement in his tone. He wasn’t terrified of snakes, per se, but he couldn’t imagine putting that thing ON his body, let alone letting it wrap around his shoulders and very vulnerable neck. 

“I am.” Liam shrugged, still a bit pale. “But I decided -” here, he hesitated, and looked away from Zayn to stare at the snake handler. “I decided, this year - I decided to face all my fears, you know? I realized, life is short. And I wanted to conquer my biggest fears. One at a time.”

He turned back, and gave Zayn an intense but unreadable look. They looked at each other for a moment, and he wondered what was going through Liam’s mind - was his old bandmate brave or foolish? 

“What kind of snake?”

“A python. I think. Right?” Liam addressed his question to the handler.

“An albino Burmese python. Ready?” The snake handler lifted the python up.

Liam turned, squaring his shoulders. “I’m ready.”

Zayn stepped back as the handler walked over and gently - like he was wrapping a fragile silk scarf around Liam’s neck instead of a living, breathing, slithering creature - placed the large python atop Liam’s shoulders - he blinked rapidly, but held still. Zayn realized he was holding his breath until the snake was fully on Liam’s shoulders. It gave him a weird thrill in his stomach - it was somehow mildly terrifying and yet sexy to see Liam in nothing but leaves and a large yellow snake?

“Now, when you hold on to Bessie -” 

Bessie? Zayn tried to hold in his hysterical giggle. Who the fuck named a snake Bessie? Apparently a snake wrangler did.

“-when you hold her, be gentle but firm? I’ll be right behind you if she starts getting restless or acts up, ok?”

Liam’s voice was strained when he said, “Understood,” but he reached up, biceps bulging, to gently grasp the snake on either end in his large hands. 

“You want to walk the red carpet with me and Bessie?” 

Zayn looked at Liam’s brown eyes, his pupils were dilated and his eyebrows were raised in concentration, but his mouth was turned up at the corners. 

Zayn grumbled. “You’ll steal all my thunder, or, Bessie will, but yeah, I’ll walk with you.”

Liam gave him a full smile, followed by a slow up and down look that caused Zayn to feel naked, despite being fully covered. 

“No one can steal your thunder, trust me.”

Zayn shrugged, but inside his heart was pounding. “Animals and kids, bro. Never work with animals or kids, you will be upstaged.”

Twenty minutes later they were on the red carpet, and Zayn had walked many a red carpet in his life, but he forgot how intense the Met Gala could be - the flashes and the yelling and the photographers were so abundant they stood on risers lining either side of the long red carpet. 

On earth, Zayn would not have worn this outfit, but on the Moon, with the perpetual dark sky that hung over the insular First City Bubble, his costume glowed and shone - he smugly thought about all the cameras that would automatically have to adjust their settings and shutter speed just to capture the neon streaks that flashed and shone every time he stepped forward or turned, so that pictures could be taken of him from every angle.

It had been decided at the last minute that Zayn would go first down the carpet, and then Liam would follow a bit behind - “I really don’t want Bessie to take any attention away from you.” 

The snake handler - whose name was Bruce - was gently settling Bessie back on Liam’s shoulders as they stood at the edge of the tent before the long stretch of red carpet began. Everyone in the tent - which at this point was mostly assistans and stylists and techs, as everyone else had walked at this late hour - was giving them a wide berth, due to Bessie, which Zayn was thankful for. It was going to be a long evening of small talk, so the less strangers that bothered him the better. 

Zayn gently shoved Liam’s shoulder, mindful of the snake, and then carefully reached out a finger to stroke Bessie as Liam gently gripped her again. Her skin felt odd - somehow both smooth and rough, and cool to the touch. She seemed pretty chill so far though. 

“You think I like attention that much?”

Liam smiled at him, warm and soft. “No, but I know how you can be a vain git when it comes to being best dressed and the most handsome.”

Zayn made an undignified noise, and went to shove Liam harder, but then looked at Bessie. Her head rested against Liam’s wrist, her tongue slightly hanging out.

“He’s lucky he’s holding on to you,” Zayn addressed the snake. “Or he would be on the ground right now.”

Liam giggled. “Go on then - you really do look amazing.”

“Thanks.” Zayn felt warm - he gave Bessie a final stroke. “You look - you look really good. And you’re brave. Facing your fears, like. I admire you Leeyum.”

Zayn turned and walked away, before he could see Liam’s reaction - his words had just slipped out, unbidden. He was so good at controlling his words and actions around others (except when he was angry - Zayn knew he could be a hothead) but around LIam it was like all his defenses lowered, whether or not he wanted them to.

And so Zayn found himself on the long red carpet. He turned to look behind him - Liam was the only one on the carpet with him, and he was quite the sensation - golden skin shining, athletic body looking like a dream, while Bessie hung out on his shoulders. Bruce, also wearing head to toe black like all the stylists, stayed close, but not so close as to be caught in any of the photos. Zayn shook his head. Give it to Liam to barely be wearing anything, let alone clothes, which is what the Met Fashion Gala was supposed to be about, and steal the thunder.

He smiled to himself, and realized he was finally, finally in the home stretch of the fucking longest red carpet of his life when he saw the hosts of the Gala standing in a line outside the doors to the Moon Met; and there was Harry, one of the hosts of the Gala this year. Due to hosting duties, he had been unable to be there while Zayn had been getting dressed.

Harry stood, towering above the other hosts, wearing platform, knee-high patent red boots with a stacked heel, paired with a red, grey and white striped jumpsuit with flared shoulders that violently sparkled under the lights of the camera flashes. The final touch was a red and blue lightning bolt painted across his face and his hair was dyed a vibrant scarlet - the entire effect was a lot, and only Harry could pull something that over the top off, Zayn thought with a fond shake of his head. 

“Ah, you look amazing, mate!” Harry enthused when Zayn went up and formerly shook his hand, as tradition decreed. “The lights turned out great! I remember when we used to watch Tron 3000 on the bus - you and Liam loved that movie. And now look at you - the movie come to life!"

“Thanks for all your help, this wouldn't have come together without you,” Zayn said sincerely, pleased Harry remembered the late night fun they had on the tour bus when they couldn’t sleep, as fondly as he did. “What’s yours inspired by? You've been keeping it a secret from everyone."

“David Bowie - Liam actually gave me the idea. When we were doing research on his costume, he came across Bowie, who was from the same time period as the snake girl singer Britteny - Bowie was a singer too, who pretended he was an alien - Liam thought that would be more my style than his - and he was right. “

“A singer and an alien?” Zayn laughed. “That’s perfect for you. And tonight.”

“Yeah, I thought so - have fun in there, yeah?”

Zayn grimaced. “I’ll try.”

Harry smiled, his genuine smile, sweet and sincere. “I mean it, Zayn, come and find me if you aren’t having fun, ok?”

“Ok. Thanks mate.” 

“Of course. And enjoy Liam's outfit. Or, lack there of.” Harry wiggled his eyebrows.

Zayn looked down the carpet at Liam, near nude and lovely. "No idea what you mean."

Harry just laughed. "Go on then." 

Zayn went down the line and shook everyone’s hands - other than Harry he couldn’t remember faces, let alone names, it was all a blur. The large double doors loomed ahead of him and he took a deep breath. Time for the heist to begin.

CHAPTER 9: BREAKING AND ENTERING

***Bonjour! It’s DJ Alesso, and this song goes out to my man Liam Payne, whose currenlty rocking the Moon Met Gala, with a fucking snake no less - throwing it back to our collab, 'Midnight' ***

Four hours later, Zayn stood in front of the DJ booth and looked around impatiently for Liam. The fancy seven course dinner was long over - he and Liam had been placed at separate round tables, much to Zayn’s consternation, and the charity auction had ended as well. The dance part of the night was in full swing - every bar that had been set up throughout the galleries and the main hall were packed, and caterers wandered through the halls with trays of drinks, unable to keep up with collecting empty glasses. The DJ booth in the main hall blared music for the past several hours, and Zayn had to admit that Snakeyez was doing an excellent job of keeping the crowd moving. 

He tried not to keep his eyes on Liam, but it was impossible, and he wasn’t the only one. Every time he glanced over, Liam was surrounded by men and women; and he could hardly admit it to himself, but he found their boldness, their blatant touching, irritating at best. They reached out and touched his biceps, or tried to touch the snake, which Liam quickly advised against, so as not to startle the poor creature, and Bruce was his constant shadow. Zayn couldn’t believe Bessie wasn’t freaked out by the crowds and noise and music and flashing lights - she was unbelievably well trained. 

Finally, Liam walked up to him, and Zayn tried again to keep his eyes on Liam’s face and the snake, and not wander lower down his body.

Liam turned to Bruce, and exchanged words with him, and then the handler was leaning forward and gently grasping the snake and lifting up while Liam carefully held still. Relieved of the burden of the python, he turned to Zayn, and leaned in, warm breath in his ear like he always did, getting so, so close. 

“Ready?” Liam said, and he was probably shouting, but Zayn barely heard him this close to the DJ booth and large speakers. 

He nodded, and followed Liam as he climbed up the stairs. As promised, due to their pre-arranged planning, Niall was in the booth with Snakeyez. Unlike the many crazy costumes, Niall had chosen to wear a classic suit - he looked wonderful, if slightly out of place next to the DJ, who was wore white coveralls with no undershirt, splattered in a rainbow melange of paint.

Niall grinned at them both, reaching forward to give them each a full body hug. 

“Zayn, you look awesome,” he yelled. “And Payno, wow man. At this point I feel like you might as well be starkers?”

Liam giggled and shrugged and Zayn watched his muscles flex.

“Where’s the snake?” Niall leaned in to yell.

Liam gestured down to the crowd. “Snake handler - past the snakes bedtime.”

Niall smiled. “Ok, speaking of - I’d like you both to meet Snakeyez.” 

The enigmatic Snakeyez turned from his equipment and gave each of them a fist bump - he wore a black mask over his face, and only his eyes were visible. Zayn wondered if Snakeyez was one of his fellow DJs underneath the mask. Whoever they were, they had burst out onto the scene and had never shown their face, but had immediately booked all the hottest shows, and had hit after hit. 

“C’mon,” Niall urged, waving them over. 

Zayn stepped closer to the familiar DJ equipment - he looked out over the crowd - there were people dancing, sure, and drinking and cutting loose - but many people were in black tie, and the crowd was subdued compared to the wild energy and jumping that constituted one of Zayn’s typical performances. He wasn’t like Liam - a human jumping jack, whose legs were springs that never stopped coiling and releasing the length of his shows - he was more subdued, preferring to rock out from behind his equipment instead of hopping up on tables and spraying the crowd with water or god knows what else. But he couldn’t imagine making a living DJing formal events or weddings or dances where a small part of the crowd calmly danced while most of the guests ignored the music. He felt grateful, once again, of the strange life he had fallen into. 

Followed Liam into this strange life of his, that is; and that small, wisp of a thought, not even fully formed, merely a fragment on the breeze, crossed his mind, and he looked at Liam, golden and glowing next to him. He felt his lips turn up into a smile, and Liam, who already looked his way, gave a full crinkly smile back.

He leaned into Zayn’s space and said. “Whatcha thinking about?” 

Zayn licked his lips and looked at Liam. They had survived a boy band together, and Liam had survived Guam, and they had survived countless UN meetings and summits, and now they were embarking on another adventure. At that moment, he realized he hadn’t ever hated Liam. He couldn’t imagine anyone else, either on One World or the Moon, who he’d rather have by his side.

Zayn shrugged and tried to look nonchalant. “Thinking about us - I mean, like, our lives. And how not normal they are.”

“That’s for sure. We sure chose an interesting path, huh?”

“We did.” Zayn felt a wave of calmness. No matter what happened tonight, he and Liam had survived worse, and would continue to survive, as long as they stuck together.

Snakeyez was winding down an electric beat, and leaned forward gesturing to Zayn, inviting him to choose a song. Zayn nodded in thanks and reached out to look at what song was queued next - he swiped through the choices, until he found the song he wanted. 

He started the song, setting a 4/6 heavy bass beat behind it, while slowly adding in a synth effect on every eighth count, nodding his head along, feeling the beat pump through his veins. 

“Ah, yes!” Liam waved his fist in the air, and Niall started clapping them both on the shoulders, and Zayn barked out at a laugh. 

The song wasn’t for the crowd, many of them too sophisticated or not young enough to have been a fan of All Directions’ music; he had chosen the song for Liam and Niall and himself. And Harry was somewhere in the building, too, hopefully he would hear it and know Zayn had chosen it for a reason. If only Louis could be here. Ten years, he thought, shaking his head at the mysterious ravages of the passing of time. 

He was shaken out of his nostalgia by Liam laying a hand on his shoulder and giving him a nod. Zayn gave a nod back, and turned to Snakeyez, giving him a thumbs up, and then leaned forward, yelling in Niall’s ear, “Bathrooms, mate?”

Niall pointed to the side stairs, Zayn smiled and nodded, giving his old bandmate one last hug - he waited for Liam to envelop Niall in a hug of his own, and then, waiting until Niall’s back was turned and he was dancing alongside the DJ, they both turned as one and headed down the back stairs of the DJ stage, instead of the side stairs. At the bottom of the stairs Zayn beant down and pulled out the two identification badges from his boot, and then pressed his battery pack until he found the button that would turn off his lights. He flicked off, and now his suit was all black, the thin clear tubes that held the light barely visible. He turned to Liam, handing him one of the badges, and tried not to laugh - Liam had worn the least practical outfit to a mission possible - at least he was no longer holding the snake. 

Together they walked across the area behind the stage to the first door they had to use the badges at. The noise level behind the stage was still loud, although the speakers facing out away from the DJ booth afforded some respite. Suddenly, Zayn was grabbed by the arm and pulled forward until he was spun around, back hitting the wall next to the door, and Liam planted his face in Zayn’s neck.

“Ooof, Liam, what the hell-” Zayn’s voice was muffled in Liam’s hair. He couldn’t help but give a sniff - it smelled like apples. He wondered if that was the hotel shampoo or Liam’s personal product. And then he saw a tech walk by, giving them a disinterested glance as he continued to walk around to the front of the stage. 

Liam was warm against his neck; Zayn stood very, very still. Were those Liam’s lips against his neck? He tensed, and Liam lifted his head up, but did not pull back. He was still pressed against Zayn, warm and bare while Zayn was fully covered, but his face was very close.

His eyes were so warm and fond, that Zayn felt an ache, deep in his stomach. Liam was looking at him like he was something precious, something worth keeping, and Zayn had been so tangled in Liam’s life, and in his feelings for Liam for so long, he didn’t know where the thread of himself ended and the thread of Liam began.

It was a small movement, so small that at first Zayn barely noticed, but when Liam moved forward, closing his eyes and gently pursing his lush, pink lips, Zayn, without thinking, closed his eyes and tilted his head, and then Liam’s mouth - plush and firm, tasted his lips. The beat from the DJ booth pulsed in his veins, and he was surrounded by music and Liam, and the moment was crystalline and hung heavy in the air. 

He savored the kiss, pushing back, nibbling on Liam’s bottom lip, something he had wanted to do for a very, very long time, but had denied himself even the fantasy, even the thought, in his daydreams. He brought his hand up to grasp the back of Liam’s neck, and he tilted him, directing him like a composer would, tilting him every which way, until the symphony swelled to a crescendo, and their mouths opened, tasting deep and hungry.

When he pulled back, panting for air, he smirked, looking at Liam’s swollen, wet mouth.

“What took you so long?” Zayn said, his voice still loud so Liam could hear him over the music.

Liam smirked back, eyes sparkling in the dim light. “I told you - this is the year I face my fears.” 

Zayn raised an eyebrow. “You were scared to kiss me bro?”

“No.” Liam’s smirk dropped into a earnest smile. “I was scared by how MUCH I wanted to kiss you.”

Zayn felt that ache again, deep, deep inside, but this time it was good - painful but good. He leaned forward and gave Liam a gentle, chase kiss. “Since we’re being honest,” he started. “I’ve wanted you to kiss me since that time we went fishing together back on tour.” He paused. “But, like, if I’m being completely honest - I think I’ve wanted to kiss you since your first audition on X-Factor 8000.” 

"Really?" Liam's eyes sparkled and he licked his lips. 

Zayn looked down. “Tu accroche la lune, Liam”

“Zayn, I - “ Liam’s voice was husky. “I wanted to kiss you when you found me in Guam. Seeing you - it’s like I had been going through a desert, and you were the oasis - and I’d been imagining you, you know, throughout the whole time I was held captive - but when you finally showed up, you weren’t a mirage. It was actually you. But, you know, if we’re being honest - “ he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Zayn’s mouth, then his nose, then his forehead, soft and intimate. “I've wanted to kiss you since I saw you in McDonalds. Right fit you were there.”

Zayn giggled, and rolled his eyes. “So fit and stuffing my face with nuggets, yeah?”

“Like an angel, stuffing his face with nuggets,” Liam grinned. 

Zayn gently punched him on the shoulder. “How ‘bout we make up for lost time after we finish the mission, yeah?”

“Sounds like a plan.” 

CHAPTER 10: THE CATACOMBS ARE COZY

***Bonjour! It’s DJ Big Payno. This next song goes out to a very special someone - it’s my remix to ‘You & I,' one of my favorites from the All Direction days, featuring an amazing high note from an amazing man - this one’s for you Z.***

Zayn walked beside Liam, tread gentle, down the long hallway in between the many galleries and wings of the Moon Met. He glanced from side to side, ensuring there were no errant security patrolling, or an overly curious caterer or drunk party guest. Their feet echoed in the cavernous hallway, and the shadows from the galleries played tricks with his eyes - statues seemed to move or watch them in the light, paintings seemed to jump from their frames and come to life. A museum after hours, Zayn thought, was a fully alive and mysterious creature. 

They had waited until the coast was clear, and, both holding their breaths, used the identification badges Louis had procured them, only exhaling when the door had clicked open and they had walked through.

The moment the heavy door shut behind them, the noise was greatly reduced, the thumping beat and the party in the main hall a gentle echo of noise. They had walked, quickly but not at a run, down the long hallway until they reached another set of doors. Holding his breath again, Zayn breathed a sigh of relief when this set of doors opened soundlessly. 

Behind the door lay the vast storage room, housing art before it went on display. Like the hall bisecting the galleries, this room seemed to be alive with shadows - statues covered with sheets seemed to sway, modern sculptures made out of wire and metal prowled the room like so many ancient beasts, and a huge window at the back of the room faced the curved, clear wall of the First City Bubble - beyond that, the wild, off-limits moon fields lay. 

“Wow,” Zayn breathed, taking in the view of the large window.

He and Liam had taken separate shuttles up to the moon, and since Zayn had tried to avoid most of the other celebrities headed to the Gala on this shuttle (Niall and Harry hadn’t been on his shuttle flight either), as a consequence he had fallen asleep, since he really could fall asleep anywhere, and had missed the landing, which he had been genuinely sad about - he had been dying to see the technical marvel of the First City Bubble up close, and off course the rest of the moon itself. 

The moon fields were grey and dusty and stretched on endlessly past the bubble, until they faded into the dark horizon. 

“Did you ever think,” Zayn said, turning to Liam, and pulling him by his hand so they could both look out the window and gaze upon the vast grey stretch, “that when you sang 'Fly Me to the Moon,' one day you would be up here?”

Liam squeezed his hand “I can’t believe you remember my first audition song.”

Zayn squeezed back, reassured by Liam’s tight grip. “I told you - wanted to kiss you ever since I saw your audition.” 

“Such a sap.” Liam’s voice was fond. “And no, I didn’t think that if I did end up going to the moon one day it would be wearing a pile of leaves and stealing priceless artifacts out of a museum.”

Zayn shrugged. “Our strange lives.” He tugged Liam’s hand again. “We need to hurry, yeah?”

Liam nodded. They walked to the back of the vast room, where the huge AeroLift was, tried their badges yet again, and again breathed a sigh of relief when they worked, and rode in silence, hands clasped, to the top floor. Once out of the lift, they walked down another long hallway, and came to the doors that led to the gallery where the Ancient Music exhibit was. Badging through, Zayn stepped into the room, looking around.

“Split up?” he asked.

“Yeah, let’s start on the outside and work our way around.”

The exhibit was full of all sorts of curious objects, and Zayn briefly read labels until he reached a section where everything looked truly ancient : MP3 player, Gramophone, RCA Records , CD, cassette, and vinyl. 

“Liam, I think I found it!” he called across the gallery. 

Liam looked up from where he had been examining a display of restored pianos. “Yeah?” he said hopefully, walking over.

They both looked at the long display - there was an array of black, thin discs, each one had a neat little label next to it with a description, although most of the discs themselves had the name of the musician or band on it. 

“Ah, here we go,” Liam said, carefully picking up a black disc labeled, Beatles for Sale, and holding it by his fingertips. 

“Can’t believe people used to listen to music on these, you know,” Zayn shook his head. “Imagine the storage space to keep them all!” He looked at the display. “Ah, here let’s use this.” He picked up a paper cover that the disc could slide into - Liam slid it inside while Zayn pulled at the edges until it was all the way in.

“Uh, I guess it’s time to carry it out?” Zayn looked down at his suit. “Zippers in the back?”

Liam giggled. “You asking me to undress you?”

Zayn raised an eyebrow. “Only if you want.”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

Liam set the vinyl back down on the display, and Zayn turned, showing his back. Liam put a hand on his shoulder, and then he heard the zipper pull down, and the cool air of the gallery room caressed his exposed back. Liam pulled the zipper all the way down until it stopped, right above the curve of Zayn’s ass. He waited for Liam to place the disc inside his outfit, right in the middle of his back, and then zip back up, but Liam didn’t move.

Zayn turned his head to the side. "You alright back there?”

“Zayn, I- you are so beautiful.”

Zayn gasped when he felt the press of Liam’s lips on the back of his neck, and then slowly, kiss by kiss, Liam branded him down his back, until he felt the press of his thumbs in the dimples at the bottom of his spine; Liam left a gentle kiss on his lower back, and then stood up. 

Zayn gripped the edge of the display table to center himself as he felt electricity race down his back, his cock getting hard. "Thought we were going to wait until after we were out of here to make up for lost time, yeah?"

“Zayn, can I -” Liam didn’t finish his sentence, but he pushed the body suit off of his shoulders, and then Zayn got impatient and pulled the fitted sleeves off of his arms himself, until he was completely exposed on top, the suit hanging off his hips. 

He turned around and Liam kissed him, hard and fast this time, licking at the seam of Zayn’s lips until he opened them, and then Liam was stroking along his tongue and they both groaned with the sensation. Now bare-chested, feeling Liam, who had been bare all night of course, pressed against his own chest, felt incredible - Zayn rubbed up against him, feeling his chest hair and his warmth.

Liam pulled back. “Zayn, can I-” he started to ask again.

“Anything. You can do anything. I’ve wanted this for so you long - you can, whatever you want Liam.” Zayn felt like floating, and he kissed Liam, mouth moving, feeling his lips and wanting to live in the moment.

Liam kissed him more urgently, tongue moving deeply in the heat of his mouth, and then he felt a hand brush across his stomach and he shuddered, sensitive to the touch. The hand moved lower, pushing into his suit, until he felt Liam gently grasp his hard cock, and slowly explore him, running his hand up and down, gripping tightly, then swiping his fingers across the wet head. 

Zayn groaned. “Uh, god Leeyum, please. Please.”

Liam seemed to know what he wanted - he pulled his hand out, giving it a few firm licks with his pink tongue, which only excited Zayn further, then he reached back down, pulled his cock out of his suit, and gripped, setting a firm, fast stroke. 

“Feels good, Z? You’re so hard.” Liam twisted his wrist on the upstroke. 

“Yes, like that, ah, ah.” 

Zayn was getting wetter and even harder, and the rational part of his brain realized they were in the middle of a mission, in the middle of the Moon Met, but the rest of his senses were consumed with thoughts of Liam, and Liam stroking him off, and Liam’s warm, masculine scent, and how he made Zayn feel so, so good, and how he felt comfortable and at home in his hands. 

Liam whispered filth in his ear, making Zayn flush all over, hot and so turned on he almost trembled with it. 

“So gorgeous, want you to come so hard, Zayn, will you come for me? I’ve thought about this so many times, got off thinking about you, making you feel good, yeah. Can’t wait until we’re back home, you in my bed. I can take my time with you, take you apart, make you come over and over. Would you like to come on my cock?”

Zayn groaned, close to the edge, close to coming. 

“We can take turns, yeah - I want to fuck you so hard, then I want to get on all my hands and knees for you, and you can just give it to me, and I’ll take it, I’ll be so good for you -”

“Liam, fuck, fuck babe,” and with that Zayn’s cock swelled and he arched his back, and suddenly Liam’s mouth was swallowing him down, and he came in Liam’s mouth, hot and hard, his nerves aflame. When Liam straightened up, Zayn leaned forward and kissed him until he was breathless, and then, without thinking, he dropped to his knees and pulled down Liam’s leaf covered briefs, and looked between his legs at how hard and swollen and red his perfect cock was.

“So fucking sexy,” Zayn crooned, before taking him in his mouth, as deep as he could.

“Zayn, fuck,” Liam groaned long and low, and then wrapped a hand in Zayn’s hair, tugging gently.

Zayn swallowed, and wrapped a hand around the base, swallowing down further, and trying not to get turned on again by all the gasps and low moans Liam made. 

“I’m close, mmm. Babe, gonna come.”

Liam pulled on his hair, but Zayn just sucked harder and twisted his wrist in time with his deep sucks.

“Zayn, babe, gonna come in your mouth - your gonna make me come in your mouth.”

Zayn moaned, throat vibrating, and swallowed around the head of Liam’s cock; Liam threw his head back and said, “oh, fuck”, and then came, hot and thick, down Zayn’s throat. 

He kneeled, not moving, swallowing and trying to pull the rest of Liam’s orgasm out of him, but he finally pulled off and wiped his mouth. He realized his own cock was still out, soft now, and he tucked himself back in his suit, looking up through his lashes at Liam, who looked dazed and wrecked. 

Zayn slowly stood up, pulling up Liam’s briefs, then throwing his arms around Liam’s neck. They stood in place, embracing, for a long minute, before Zayn whispered in his ear. “Let’s go home now, yeah?”

And Liam didn’t say anything but he kissed Zayn on the forehead, then helped him pull the suit back on and hide the disc down his back. It was time to wrap up the mission. 

A week later, back on One World and deep in the catacombs of Paris, Zayn found himself in a small room, Liam by his side, and Louis, Harry, and Niall close by. After entering the catacombs through a drain next to the Trocadero, he followed his former All Direction bandmates through meandering tunnels, trying not to look too closely at the skulls lining the walls. 

Louis had told his fellow Ethical CEO Board members Niall and Harry about the entire mission, leaving out the part that Zayn and Liam were secret UN members and part of the highly classified DJ Program. He explained their status as DJs allowed them to traverse through the back rooms of large parties unnoticed for the most part, and so were the perfect candidates for the mission. 

“Here we are,” Harry announced, pushing aside a heavy tarp with a large sign reading “en réparation n'entrez pas.“ 

The narrow passageway opened up to a small chamber, almost cozy, filled with couches, small tables, and what looked like a well-stocked bar in the corner.

“Gentlemen, take a seat,” Harry gestured, pressing his hand to a panel on the wall - the entire room lit up, soft lighting exposing the contrast of the skulls of the long dead looking down on the cozy decor. 

“How’d you know about this place?” Liam asked, sitting down on one of the couches and grabbing Zayn’s arm and pulling him down with him, much to Zayn’s delight. 

Louis snorted. “Fashion people know all the weird, underground secret clubs. When Bernard asked me where we would play this disc, I told him we had that covered - Harry's secret catacomb club has one of the last disc players on One World.”

"Record player, Lou - and they're called vinyl, not discs," Harry corrected. 

Louie rolled his eyes. "Whatever." 

“It’s creepy as fuck, but cool,” Niall said, looking around.

“I like it,” Zayn announced, wrapping his arm around Liam and snuggling further into the couch. 

Harry pulled out a stack of red re-usable cups he’d brought in a backpack, and went over to the bar and poured five shots of whiskey. 

He came back, passing the cups around.

Louis looked at Zayn expectantly. “Well, you bring it?”

Zayn sighed. “No, Lou - you only reminded me over and over.”

He’d also brought a backpack, and pulled out the black disc that he’d brought back all the way from the moon. 

Louis took it from him, holding it by the edges, gingerly pulling off the fragile paper sleeve. He went to the corner, where a strange looking machine, with a large, horn-like piece, curved over a round “turn-table” Louis had called it when he'd shown Zayn a photo of what the disc player would look like. He put the black disc down, after reading the label and flipping it to the other side, 

He lifted a thin piece of the machine that had a stubby needle attached to the end, then gently set it down on the disc. A minute later, a scratchy noise echoed throughout the small cavern, everyone flinched, but a moment later the noise stopped and music began. They sipped their drinks and listened to the words pouring out of the horn. 

Oh, I need your love, babe  
Guess you know it's true  
Hope you need my love babe  
Just like I need you  
Hold me, love me, hold me, love me  
I ain't got nothing but love, babe  
Eight days a week

When the song finished, they all sat there for a moment, deep in thought. 

Liam finally spoke. “They were a boy band. And we were a boy band. From a thousand years ago. Boggles the mind. “ 

“Do you think there really used to be eight days a week? Niall asked.

Louis shrugged. “Appears so. Or, seems to be a strong possibility. Not sure how much definitive proof a song can offer.” 

“Imagine having even less days off,” Harry shuddered

Zayn had been thinking about this all week. “But why go from eight days, to, like, six. Why not go to seven? Doesn’t make sense.” 

Everyone was quiet again. 

“Maybe people don’t like odd numbers so much?” Liam suggested.

“Could have tried seven for a while, but there’s no record of it?” Harry wondered.

“Or, what if there were eight days but they only worked six and had two days off?” Zayn really felt they were missing something, a crucial piece to the puzzle. He needed to pay a visit to Professor Bernard and find out more about the supposed “great time event.”

“Two days off, in a row?” Liam was incredulous. 

“Or maybe, two days off spread out?” Zayn ventured. 

“Preposterous.” Louis was firm.

Harry was kinder. “It’s a nice idea, Zayn, but there was no way Disnazon would ever allow something like that.”

Niall shook his head and muttered, “Two days off can you imagine?’ 

Zayn looked at Louis. "So what now? Do we destroy the disc?"

Louis nodded. "Bernard said to listen to it and report the findings to him, but then get rid of it. Better to be safe than sorry. Don't want it falling into the wrong hands and giving anyone ideas. That's why he wanted it out of the museum." 

There was a pause. 

“So, ten years, lads, since we started the band.” Liam raised his glass. “A toast to, All Direction?”

Zayn had almost forgotten it was the ten year anniversary in another month. And what an eventful ten years it had been.

Everyone raised their glasses.

Louis cleared his throat. “It gave us so much - brought us together, helped us take care of our families. No matter, we’ll always have that.” 

Zayn thought about all that he had been able to help and provide his family with, and he did owe it to the All Direction days.

“And here’s to not working eight days a week!” Louis crowed. 

“They worked seven days a week and had ONE day off,” Zayn corrected. 

“Either way,” Louis shrugged. 

Harry raised his glass again. “Let’s cheer to Liam and Zayn, who were nice enough to steal from the Moon Met. The Board of Ethical CEOs thanks you!" 

“To a couple of killer DJs!” Louis cheered.

“Here, here!” Harry grinned.

Niall took a large swig of his whiskey. “I’ll drink to that.” 

Zayn turned to Liam, meeting his warm brown eyes. He couldn't wait until they followed each other, headlong and impulsive, into their next adventure together. 

“If you run into the dark, I’ll be right there behind you, bringing you the light,” Zayn whispered into his ear, wondering if Liam remembered the night in the field from so long ago. 

Liam grinned, and Zayn knew he remembered. 

“You are the light, my light in the dark,” Liam whispered back, and it was sappy, but that was fine because Zayn liked sappy and he loved Liam; and they kissed, and kissed again, while their old and dear friends whooped and yelled besides them, deep, deep underground, in their strange lives. The mission had come to an end. 

La Fin.


End file.
